


Hell's Angel

by zabjade



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-11 15:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19930147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zabjade/pseuds/zabjade
Summary: Spike burned up in the Hellmouth, his soul and self pulled into the amulet in a moment of noble sacrifice. Nineteen days later, he comes back out in Angel's office. Nothing but an immaterial ghost and trapped with Angel.... You'd almost think it was his very own personal hell.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The lovely banner is the work of the amazingly talented Myrabeth.
> 
> Some dialogue is taken from the Angel episode "Just Rewards"

_He grins and laughs like a child on Christmas morning as he burns. It hurts,_ God _it hurts, but he can feel it. His soul. A warmth snuggled down at his core, absolved of all sin by altruistic sacrifice. In that moment, he is a being of pure innocence and love. Love for Buffy, his feisty little Nibblet, all the girls, even the Scoobies. The whole bloody world, really._

_Somewhere outside of himself, he thinks he hears Buffy’s voice, feels an impact against his burning body, but he knows it isn’t so. She’s gone, and he’s standing there alone, burning. The pain is suddenly so intense that he can no longer think, only feel as his skin burns away, his muscles following after, and he is drawn out and away, spiraling down, down, down into nothing…._

_Time stopes and then starts again, going backwards. Pain sears through him as he reforms from dust to skeleton, to muscle and raw nerves. There is no joy in this, only fear and pain, like being born into a vat of boiling oil. He screams in voiceless agony, vocal cords ripped to shreds several times before they’re finally strong enough to withstand his pain. It echoes in his sensitive ears as blurry figures appear before his newly regrown eyes._

**…**

Spike was doubled over in pain, panting desperately for breath he didn’t actually need. Where was he? What was going on? There were people all around him, fuzzy shapes all seemingly talking at once.

“Spike?” Quiet voice with an accent that he wanted to roll up in like a comforting blanket.

“ _Spike!_ ” Angry familiar voice. Hated/loved.

“Blondie bear?” What the…? That couldn’t be. Was that…?

“What… what…?” he gasped out in confusion as his eyesight started to clear. Where the bloody hell was he? Who were these people? What was…?

They were talking again. Mostly hostile, one confused not-Harmony female voice, a male voice that was actually calm and soothing.

“Easy, slim, easy. No one’s gonna hurt you,” the calm voice said.

“Speak for yourself, green jeans,” said a dark skinned man Spike was pretty sure he’d never seen before. He didn’t really keep track though, so for all he knew he could have eaten the man’s entire family right in front of him or something.

“Okay, would somebody please tell me who –” not-Harmony started to ask.

“William the Bloody,” the Englishman answered. “He’s a vampire. One of the worst recorded. Second only to –”

“Me,” Angel interrupted angrily. Spike turned and focused on him, his own anger starting to overpower his confusion. “But you’re dead.”

Harmony was babbling something, but Spike wasn’t really paying attention. He was still staring at Angel. Bloody Angel. The wanker who’d given the bloody amulet to _Buffy_. It could have been Buffy who would have gone through all of that pain, and Angel had just handed it over to her. Rage boiled through him, and his features shifted as he launched himself at the smarmy prick....

Only to end up going through him and halfway through the big, fancy desk. He turned and stared down at where his body disappeared into the wooden surface. It was only then that he realized only his sight and hearing had come back. No wonder he was still so unfocused. He couldn’t bloody smell anything. As for touch…. Well, he was in the middle of a sodding _desk_ , wasn’t he, and he couldn’t even feel it.

He swallowed hard, fear and horror a writhing mass in the pit of his stomach as he looked up at the people staring at him. “Bugger.”

**…**

“Weird,” the little science-y bird, Fred, muttered as she walked towards the nearby lab table to pick up a file. She was a sweet little honey with the twang of Texas in her words. She turned back towards him. “I’m getting electromagnetic readings consistent with spiritual entities, but there’s no ectoplasmic matrix.”

_What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?_ he wondered, pulling his coat even tighter against his body, though it barely seemed possible. He was hugging himself – had been for a while now – but it was just as distressing as it was a comfort. He couldn’t actually feel anything, not even himself. It was like touching his legs when he’d been in that bloody wheelchair, only without being able to feel anything against his hand either.

_I’m in hell,_ he thought numbly. Had to be. He was here with Angel, unable to smell or touch anything, the two senses that had always defined his world the most. He was adrift, with no solid form, no home, and no Buffy to add any shred of light to his predicament.

“Meaning?” Gunn asked, drawing Spike back to the world outside of himself.

The man was standing next to the lab table while Spike’s sodding pillock of a grandsire sat there like a lump and Fred did most of the work. At least the ex-Watcher and the green demon were doing something presumably productive over at a high powered microscope.

Fred turned towards Gunn as she answered his question. “Ectoplasm’s what makes ghosts visible to the human eye. If he’s a ghost, technically we shouldn’t be able to see him.” She paused to write something down in her folder. “And I’m detecting brainwave activity.”

“On Spike?” Angel said with a derisive laugh. “That _is_ weird.”

Bastard. As if the great lummox was any smarter than Spike was. _Probably had more schooling and made better marks than he ever did,_ Spike thought resentfully. Fred gave Angel a slightly reproachful look, but didn’t say anything. At least she’d been nice enough to give the look, and it wasn’t as if he was speaking up in his own defense. There were advantages to playing at being the dumb blond, after all.

Fred turned back to Spike as she continued speaking, giving him all of her attention. “Also, ghosts generally absorb light and heat energy, making the area around them a few degrees cooler. Spike’s radiating heat.”

He couldn’t help the smirk that spread across his face. He knew she didn’t mean it like that, but…. “Think I’m hot, do you?”

“Mmm…” She looked him over with a slight, dismissive smile and then down at her clipboard. “Lukewarm. Just above room temperature.”

Oooh, shot down. “Well, what the hell am I, then?” Not that he had actually been serious, mind. Flirting and talking to girls had always been a sort of comfort action that made him feel better. It… wasn’t helping right now. Probably wouldn’t have even if she’d responded. _Like anyone would give me a second look with the mighty brooding forehead about._ Even Buffy…. God, Buffy.

Angel had said she was okay. That was all that mattered, not that he yearned for her with every part of his apparently not-ghostly being. None of them would even call her, not even Fred or Lorne, as nice as they seemed. _For the best, really,_ he told himself. He was a hideous, disgusting monster, inside and out. Of course she wouldn’t want to see him again. He hugged himself tighter, even though he couldn’t feel it.

“Whatever he is,” Wesley piped up, “it’s clearly tied to this amulet. Spike’s essence, for lack of a better term, must have been held within it.” He looked up at Spike. “Do you have any memory of a strange sensation when it released its energy?”

Spike gave him a look. What a ponce. Any strange sensations? What the bloody hell had Wesley thought he’d been seeing the reverse of when the amulet had upchucked him into Angel’s office?

“What? You mean my skin and muscle burning away from the bone?” He kept his tone light and oddly distant, not wanting to think of it even as he described it. “Organs exploding in my chest? Eyeballs melting in their sockets? No. No memory at all. Thanks for asking.”

“Okay,” Angel said, “he’s connected to the amulet. Last I heard, it was buried deep inside of the Hellmouth. How did it end up here?”

“Maybe he’s here for a reason,” Fred suggested, looking at Spike compassionately before turning towards Angel. “You know, some higher purpose or something he’s destined for. Sent to us by the Powers that Be to help us or –”

“Who gave them the bloody right to do that? Keh.” Destiny. God, he hated that word. In that timeless moment between being sucked into the amulet and coming back out, he’d been at _peace_. Just a gentle nothingness and the vague feeling that he’d finally done something right for once. Now this. He started pacing, turning away from them so they couldn’t see that he was fighting back tears.

“Can’t a man die in peace without some high almighty deciding it’s not his time?” His voice was getting shaky and perilously close to breaking. “Let’s have a little more fun with him, eh?” He’d gotten just enough control of himself to add a mocking tone to his words as he held out his hand to measure a small distance. “You’d think that saving the sodding _world_ would earn me a rest. You’d think –”

“Spike,” Fred called out suddenly.

“Hmm?” That’s when he noticed it. The horrible dragging, pulling sensation as something tried to tear him out of the world. He’d been bitching about being in it against his will, but this…. He looked down at himself. He was fading away. “Balls,” he whispered.

Sudden terror screamed through him with the conviction that whatever waited was even worse than the touchless, scentless, Angel tainted hell he was currently stuck in. Then he vanished.

**...**

_“…without some high almighty deciding it’s not his time?”_

Buffy turned away from Willow’s projection, wiping the moisture away from her eyes. God, Spike sounded so lost and confused. Lost and confused…. That really summed him up even before all of this. She’d used and confused him, twisted him so much as she clawed her way up from the depths by shoving him down.

He’d gone and gotten a _soul_ for her, and she hadn’t been able to tell him how awed she’d been by that. Not really. There just hadn’t been time, and she’d been so afraid to tell him how she felt…. And when she finally had, it had been too late. He hadn’t believed her.

And even without that belief, he’d been prepared to die to save her and the entire world. And she’d run when he’d told her to, too confused at first to do otherwise. What would have happened if she hadn’t turned back? Would the W&H people have just left him there, singed and broken in the rubble of the Hellmouth, when they realized they’d caught the wrong vampire? Or would they have found a way to use him?

Her gaze drifted to the pale, still figure stretched out on the hotel room bed. He looked a little better now, after she’d forced some of her blood into him. He still seemed more like a lifeless corpse than he ever had before. Willow sat next to him on the bed as she projected his experiences for them all to see. It was horribly invasive, but they had to know what was going on in there or they wouldn’t be able to get him out.

She glanced at the man – Mathias Pavayne – sitting in a chair beside the bed, holding that damn amulet. She wanted to smash the thing, but she’d been told that would only destroy the soul and consciousness stuck inside, forced to endure a custom hell set up by Wolfram & Hart and influenced by Spike’s own mind.

Mathias tensed suddenly, then slumped and sighed in defeat. He looked at Buffy with the woeful expression of a kicked puppy dog. “I almost had him, but the damnable thing twisted my efforts and made him frightened of the path out.”

Buffy closed her eyes and struggled to keep her composure. It wasn’t Mathias’s fault he’d failed this first attempt. He was a psychometrist and old friend of Giles who had been called in to help. Shaking him and demanding that he do better wasn’t going to help anything. Well, the violence would offer her some much needed relief, but then she’d just feel bad about it.

She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she opened her eyes. “Okay, so what does that mean? We can’t just give up.” She _wouldn’t_ give up on him. Even if her took her whole damn life, she was getting him out of that amulet.

“I’ll keep trying,” Mathias said with a warm – but weary – smile. “If nothing comes of it….” He hesitated. “Well, it’s risky, but if Willow could use her magic to enhance my abilities, I might be able to go in and force him out.”

Willow glanced at her sympathetically while her projection showed Spike popping back into the Wolfram & Hart lab. “Don’t worry, Buffy, we’re going to save him. I promise.”

Buffy nodded and turned away again, unable to watch. Spike had saved the world, and was being treated like an annoying and inconvenient mystery. She stared down at her burned hand. Some of the burning actually had happened, but not the extent the projection had shown. _But that was what he felt._ That was what Willow had said. That his soul and consciousness being ripped out would have felt like burning alive.

“You’re right, Will. We _are_ going to save him.” She clenched her burned hand into a determined fist. They had been through too much for this to be the end. _Hang on, Spike,_ she thought. _I’m coming for you._

_I’ll always come for you._


	2. Chapter 2

A quick punch to the nose. A kick to the side of the ribs. Bounce back, then dart in for a punch to the gut. Back off again, letting the confused fledgling recover for a bit. Buffy knew she shouldn’t be doing this, toying with him instead of just staking him, but she needed the fight. She needed to work out the rage and fear and horror.

They’d been trying to _help_ and…. She choked back a sob and head butted the newly risen vampire. She couldn’t get it out of her head. She needed it out of her head.

_A twisted version of Mathias Pavayne, turned from kindly old friend of Giles into a horrible, sadistic monster. He’s curled around Spike’s naked form, touching him, telling him he’s evil and belongs in hell._

“Stupid, sexy, brave vampire,” she growled as she hit the fledge over and over.

“If… you feel that… way… about me,” the confused vampire panted out, “why do you keep… _hitting_ … me?”

“Not you,” she snapped, shoving him to the ground. She held him down with her foot and grabbed his arm. _Twist. Pull. Snap. Riiiip._ She tore his arm off. What the…? She stared stupidly at the arm in her hand for a moment, feeling sick. She was the vampire slayer, not the vampire torturer. She couldn’t believe she’d….

“What the hell is wrong with you?” the vampire managed to shriek out among his horrified caterwauling.

The noise made her head hurt and reignited her rage. Without even thinking about it, she smacked him with his own arm. Huh. That worked nicely. She hit him again.

“Damn it, Spike,” she snarled, using the arm to beat the vampire. “Why do you always have to do the right thing at the wrong. Damn. _Time_?”

Fury, fear, pride, frustration, sick horror.... She’d felt all of those things while watching the projections Willow had created of what Spike was going through. The sight of him making his clothes appear again, holding his head high with confidence, and then giving up his chance to be solid to save someone without any hesitation. She’d been so proud of him, but she’d also wanted to hit him. To shake him and beg him to just go through the damn “hell” portal.

Even their backup plan – a corporealization machine so he’d at least be solid – had been ruined. All because the amulet had twisted things, and Spike was a selfless idiot who always tried to save the girl. Even when he was being fragmented, and the girl in question was a representation of his cleverness and feminine side.

She continued whaling on the screaming fledgling. She imagined it was Spike and hit harder. Then she imagined it was Mathias, and guilt was added to the emotional stew that was Buffy. God, the poor man had done his best. It had been the amulet that had twisted his actions into something rapey and horrifying. They’d had to sedate him after Willow had managed to free him from the tiny pocket of itself the amulet had shoved him into.

She wanted someone to blame. Someone to take her anger out on. _It’s my fault,_ she thought. _I’m the one who gave it to him. It’s all my fault._ She’s taken the stupid thing from Angel and…. _Angel._ Angel had brought that _thing_ to Sunnydale and hadn’t protested much about being sent away. Not really.

With a scream of rage, she beat the fledgling into unconsciousness, pretending he was Angel. She beat him for all of the times he’d led her on. Beat him for all of the times he’d broken her heart. For all of the times he’d abandoned her. She beat until the… the _thing_ he’d become was barely even undead, and then she kicked him in the head. It caved in, and she lost her balance as she tried to hit a body that had exploded into dust.

Damn it. She hadn’t been _ready_ yet. Goddamn vampires. They always left you before you were ready. Buffy dropped to her knees and cried.

**…**

Buffy felt numb and floaty as she walked into the Hyperion. The stairs started getting closer, so she assumed she must be moving. That assumption was proven correct when she literally ran into the person-shaped object suddenly in her way. She blinked and the person-thing became a Kennedy-thing. Not really an improvement.

“What exactly is your damage?” it demanded.

Damage? What was her _damage_? She stared at the Kennedy-thing without saying a word. It wanted to know what the damage was? Constant betrayal from every corner but one. That was the damage. Her one support undermined at every opportunity. That was damage, too. That support basically in a coma while his soul – that he’d gotten for _her_ – and consciousness were locked away in his own personal version of hell. That was the biggest damage of all.

Buffy shoved Kennedy out of her way and continued towards the stairs.

“We can’t just stay here,” Kennedy insisted. “If you aren’t going to step up and lead, then I will. We should get out of here. Go to the Council Headquarters and see what can be salvaged.”

Buffy turned, finally actually focusing on the other woman. Her glance flicked across the lobby to the collection of former potentials – now slayers – milling around uncomfortably.

“The war is over,” she said quietly. “We ‘won.’ Do whatever the hell you want. I don’t care.”

She’d already started up the stairs when that irritating voice sounded again. “What about Willow? Can she do whatever the hell _she_ wants, or are you going to keep her here just because you don’t have what it takes to put down your undead cuddle buddy?”

There was a sudden crunch, and Buffy found a chunk of loose railing in her hand. Huh. How had _that_ happened? Weird. She let it drop and kept going up the steps without answering. Willow was helping. That was what Willow did. She “helped” and did the “right thing.” Even if that “right thing” was screwing everything up or helping to kick someone out of their own damn house.

Giles came out of his room just as she reached the top of the stairs. He looked at her hesitantly, as if he wanted to hug her close and pet her hair while he whispered that everything would be alright. Part of her wanted to let him, but the rest didn’t trust him. He seemed to realize that.

“Ah, Buffy? Angel called. He requested a meeting with you at his office in the morning. He, uh, has supposedly found some information on the amulet that may prove useful.”

Angel had information? Oh god, she didn’t want to deal with Angel right now. She wasn’t sure if either one of them would survive it.

“Don’t worry,” Giles said gently. “I’ll take care of it.”

She studied him for a long moment. He’d been trying, this past week. She’d give him that. And unlike some of the others, he’d never suggested just dusting Spike.

“Yeah, okay,” she said, turning away from him.

She went down the hall to the room Angel had said she could use when he’d given them permission to stay in the hotel. She could hear a quiet voice apparently talking to itself in the room. Was Willow trying something new? She should be resting. Buffy frowned and opened the door. Willow couldn’t help if she wasn’t rested.

“… ‘and that’s a wild creature! I suppose he’s so tame because we’ve been kind to him.’”

Not Willow. Dawn. She’d put the amulet on Spike’s chest and was curled up beside him on the bed, one hand resting on the gaudy gemstone. She was holding a book in the other and had been reading in a passable British accent.

“It-.” she paused, seeming a little embarrassed. “It’s Rikki-tikki-tavi,” Dawn said, sniffing back tears. “He… uh, he used to read it to me while you were…. Dead.”

Buffy stared blankly at her sister for a moment, then grabbed her nightgown out of the closet and went to the bathroom to change. Of them all, Dawn’s betrayal had hurt the worst. She’d given up her life for Dawn, multiple times, if you thought about it. She’d lost her life as a single child. She’d put aside her own grief and needs when their mother died. Then she’d given her actual, physical life so Dawn could keep hers.

And she’d been repaid with betrayal.

Buffy sighed and washed her face. It wasn’t that simple, though, was it? Dawn had finally told her about the encounter with the FE. _She won’t choose you._ Dawn had spent her entire short existence being abandoned in one way or another by multiple people. Maybe she’d decided it was time to be the betrayer for once instead of the betrayee.

It had been a dumb and hurtful reaction, but Buffy couldn’t honestly say she’d never stomped all over someone else when she’d been confused. She’d done it to Xander after her visit to her father that first year. He’d brought her back to life when Angel couldn’t, for some reason. Instead of being properly grateful, she’d…. She’d been a heinous bitch, honestly. And then there was Spike….

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She couldn’t fully forgive Dawn. Not yet. But…. She left the bathroom and climbed into the bed, curling up against Spike’s other side. Her hand reached out to cover Dawn’s on the amulet.

“Keep reading,” she whispered.

**…**

It was a pretty little gem of a building, wasn’t it? Windows everywhere, shining light onto all of the white interior. You could almost believe it was the office building version of a fairytale castle. _All it needs is a bloody unicorn prancing about through the lobby,_ Giles thought cynically. He knew this place for the poisoned lolly it truly was.

Wait, was that…? Giles watched in bemusement as what he was certain was a kirin demon was led across the lobby on a leash. He shook his head and made his way to Angel’s office, introducing himself to the vampire’s personal receptionist. Her eyes were a little too wide and her skin tinted just a shade too blue, but she was mostly able to pass for human. A rocali demon, he thought. It was a good choice for a receptionist. They could read surface thoughts. He kept his pleasant and focused on the reason for this meeting.

“I’m Rupert Giles. Angel is expecting a… an associate,” the word stabbed at his heart, but he couldn’t claim any other relationship with Buffy right now. Not honestly, “of mine. I’ve come in her place.”

She studied him for a moment, then picked up the phone to call Angel. Harmony as the receptionist hadn’t been the only departure Spike’s hellscape had taken from reality. While Angel was the CEO and Wesley did run the magical research division, Fred’s science division dealt almost exclusively with forensics of one sort or another while Gunn oversaw both the group of private investigators on retainer and the corps of bodyguards Wolfram & Hart kept on hand for their clients. Lorne was in charge of HR and client morale, which wasn’t far off from what he did in Spike’s hell world.

“Mr. Giles,” the receptionist called out. “Mr. Angel will see you.”

Giles thanked her and went into the office, feeling the same bottled rage he did whenever in Angel’s presence. He still dreamed of her. His Jenny, lying dead in his bed when they’d only gotten each other back. The First Evil in her form, whispering about how you could never really trust a vampire, especially one who claimed to have a soul, yet still seemed to essentially be the same creature.

For his part, Angel didn’t seem any happier to see him. The vampire was standing near his desk, glowering broodingly, as it that was the least bit impressive. “Where’s Buffy?” he asked.

“She’s the most senior slayer,” Giles replied coolly. “She hasn’t the time to be running about at your beck and call. Whatever information you have can just as easily be given to me.” His eyes narrowed. “Unless of course, this was all a ruse. If so, I shall have to inform her that you most definitely can no longer be trusted.”

Angel pressed his lips into a tight, white line, then grabbed a folder from his desk and thrust it towards Giles. “Here.”

He nodded brusquely and left the office without another word. He made it all the way to the main lobby before he was stopped.

“Mr. Giles, wait!” a female voice called out. He turned to see what was an oddly puppyish humanoid lizard in a pink dress suit. She held out a stack of papers.

He frowned at the demon and the papers. “Who are you? What is this all about?”

She looked away, then back at him. “I’m Penelope Kshrask’lar. I’m Mr. Angel’s personal lawyer and legal expert. When something’s not… _right_ , I get a feeling – comes from being a balance demon. I’m sure it was just a mistake,” she said earnestly, her long tail wagging. “These papers were meant to be in the folder about the amulet.”

Giles’s eyes narrowed as he slowly took the papers. A mistake, hmm? It could have been…. But honestly, he wouldn’t put it past Angel to pull something like this. “Ah, thank you, Ms. Kshrask’lar.”

She nodded and scurried away to meet up with Angel’s associate, Gunn, whom she seemed quite pleased to see. Were they…? Giles shook his head. Thinking about the love lives of mostly strangers may have been a nice distraction – that had honestly been part of the appeal of watching Passions with Spike back in the Sunnydale days – but it was none of his business. He stared at the papers in his hands. He had to look through this… and then deal with the possibility that what was in them might break his slayer’s heart all over again.

**…**

Giles stared at the papers spread across the hotel room desk. Good lord. The information here…. It made so much sense. Some of it had already been obvious to Buffy. Some of it though.... Buffy would _not_ be pleased to hear about it.

For himself, though…. He sighed in defeat and took off his glasses so he could press his hands to his eyes. He had to come to terms with the differences between Angel and Angelus being a flaw in Angel… and not one in Spike. If what he was reading was true – and considering Angel had tried to keep it secret, he was fairly certain it was – then the younger vampire was quite a bit more extraordinary than he had given him credit for…. And it was time to stop blaming an entire species for what one monster had done to the woman he’d loved.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue and scenes taken from the Angel episodes “Lineage” and “Destiny.”

Even before his barmy idea to get himself a soul, Spike had always been able to empathize with those he gave a crap about. Not that Wes was one of his favorites when it came to Angel’s crew, mind, but his horizons had been broadened a bit, now hadn’t they? Almost like becoming a vampire had made him nearsighted when it came to people, and the soul was a pair of corrective lenses.

Still and all, he might have felt for the poor sod even without the soul or giving a crap. That happened sometimes when someone reminded him of himself. Spike had always been too much of a starry-eyed dreamer to ever be head boy, but Wesley had that air of someone who had spent a good portion of his life desperately wanting to be part of a group, only to find himself included as the butt of the joke.

And then this business with his father…. Spike’s own father had passed when he was just a child, but he could still relate. He knew what it was like to strive for the approval of the family patriarch only to constantly fall short. He’d never been quite evil enough for Angelus and was never good enough for Angel. Couldn’t win for losing with that one, just like with Wes and his old man.

As for killing a parent…. He didn’t think he’d ever be up to talking about that with Wesley – not without a massive dose of the alcohol he couldn’t actually drink now that he was a ghostie – but he knew that pain, too. He could at least let him know he wasn’t alone without telling him the disturbing details.

When Wesley came out of Angel’s office, Spike intended to suggest he go out and get smashed all right and proper. He even planned to offer himself as someone to listen if he needed. That wasn’t what came out when he opened his mouth.

“Heard what happened up top, offing your dad and all. Don’t know if you know this, but uh… I killed my mum.” Oh _god,_ what was he saying? He couldn’t stop. The words poured out of him like some kind of vile poison. There was no way Wesley could have known that, because it was private – he hadn’t even told Buffy all of the horrid details – and definitely not any of his sodding business. “Actually, I’d already killed her, and then she tried to shag me, so I had to….”

Wesley held up a hand in a stopping motion, and whatever sick impulse had made him say all of that decided to follow the unspoken command. He felt sick and somehow violated, his most shameful secret tossed out like it meant nothing. He’d come to terms with it – he knew it hadn’t really been his mum in any way, that she’d been one of those vampires who came through the change with very little of their humanity intact – but it was too private and still too raw to be tossed about like that.

Wesley said something before walking away, but Spike wasn’t paying attention. He felt naked and exposed. Worse, he felt like he’d been forced to strip his _mother_ naked and flaunt her before all and sundry. God, what the hell was _wrong_ with him?

_I’m losing myself,_ he thought numbly, wrapping his arms around himself in a pointless hug that he couldn’t even feel.

**…**

_“… staking your mother while she’s coming on to you!”_

Buffy could recognize the sheer misery in Spike’s eyes as he shouted that out to Angel, but she was pretty sure no one in the hellscape could see it. Willow’s projections imposed their own time on what was going on, but days or even weeks – once a whole month – could pass when she had to take a break. It was all recorded, though, and when watching the recording about the robot dad, Wesley hadn’t seemed to notice the shocked horror on Spike’s face when he’d talked about his mom.

That had torn Spike up even _before_ the soul. He hadn’t even been able to tell her about the coming on to him part – she’d kind of guessed, based on how he hadn’t said what he hadn’t said – and now he was yelling it out at the top of his lungs in a crowded office building.

Buffy went over to the bed and gently took one of Spike’s pale, lifeless hands in her own. Did he actually have any connection to his body at all? Could he feel her? Did he know she was here, waiting for him, trying to help? Probably not. He was trapped in his own personal hell while the people around him became aspects of himself that could diminish or enhance his own inherent traits in whatever way would hurt him the most.

She took a deep breath to steady herself and reluctantly let go of Spike’s hand before turning back towards Willow and the projection. Harmony had just announced that Spike had mail, which was step one in the latest attempt to rescue him.

Buffy blinked and shot a disbelieving look at Willow. “A box of flash? Really?”

“Hey, _you_ try being creative while weaving together a bunch of spells to try outsmarting a hell amulet commissioned by a bunch of evil lawyers,” the redhead grumped.

Well, okay, she had a point there, but still…. Before Buffy could say anything else, the door opened and Giles came in, looking distressed and holding a folder. He started to say something, but she couldn’t focus on him right then. Her entire world had suddenly narrowed down to Willow’s projection, where a newly solid Spike had just charmed Harmony into going off to have sex with him.

**…**

_No, no, no._ He was supposed to be getting the hell out of L.A., not laying bloody _Harmony_ down on a desk. He had to leave. He had to find Buffy. He couldn’t…. _No, no, no._ He unbuckled his belt and started to unzip his jeans. Oh god, what was he doing? This was wrong. So wrong on so many levels.

Spike had always been honest with her about his feelings when they’d been “dating.” He was pretty sure she’d never actually _listened_ to a sodding thing he’d said, but he’d been honest. Except for when he’d been desperate right after the chip, he’d never encouraged her delusion that she was more than a tumble to him. This, though… this was leading the silly chit on, it was. Had to seem like he’d picked her over Buffy.

He hadn’t, though. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want Harmony, and he didn’t want _this_. Why was he doing it? He wanted to feel, to touch everything and breathe in the scent of the world. Was that why he was doing this? It was awful and mechanical, no more than flesh. But… she smelled good, and she felt good. And it wasn’t like Buffy would want him back, anyway, would she? He was beneath her.

He didn’t notice Harmony’s eyes flash as she became an aspect of him, taking on his insecurities and his inability to stop others from using and discarding him.

**…**

Buffy stared numbly at the projection. All Spike had had to do was make a real, honest effort to get to her, and he would have been free. Instead, he’d grabbed Harmony and….

“Buffy,” Willow said, gently squeezing her shoulder. “This is his version of hell, remember?”

That… actually made sense. She remembered how upset he’d been when she’d implied he’d wanted more than to talk to those women the First had made him turn. Spike loved women, loved company, and loved talking. He was also incredibly faithful, even if the woman he loved couldn’t admit how she felt.

“And we’re about to get him out,” Willow continued, excitement in her voice. “Look.”

Buffy focused on the projector again. Spike was heading towards the elevator, getting ready to go to “Europe” to find her. They were going to get him back.

“Buffy… I don’t believe it’s going to be this simple,” Giles said.

She ignored him. It was happening. It was really happening. Spike was coming back. Buffy felt tears prickling at the back of her eyes. She was going to hug him. She’d hug him, and then she’d punch him right in the nose for not believing her and making her worry so much. Then she’d hug him again.

They were talking about some kind of apocalypse in the projection. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t real, just the amulet wigging out over Spike being solid again. None of that was important. All that mattered was that Spike was standing in front of the elevator, getting ready to get on.

“Come on,” she whispered. Oh god, it was happening. What… what if he didn’t want her anymore? No. She wasn’t going to think about that. It wasn’t important either. This was about Spike and getting him out of hell. “Get on the elevator, Spike. Come on, honey, come home.”

No, don’t linger to hear about the howling abyss. No one gives a shit about the sound of a howling abyss. Well, okay, a howling abyss actually should be something people cared about, but it wasn’t _real_. Spike just needed to ignore it all and get on the elevator.

_“Just us and a big, gaping tear in the balance of the universe,”_ said some woman Buffy hadn’t really been paying attention to. Eve she thought her name was.

_Oh no, no, no_. Buffy’s heart sank. The universe was at stake and Spike didn’t know it wasn’t real. He was going to try to be a hero. It… was just who he _was_. He was just standing there, holding the elevator doors open.

_“Spike….”_ Angel said, and Buffy prayed he’d tell Spike to go away. She knew Spike. If this had been real, he’d storm off, then return to help. But the storming off would be enough. It would bring him home. _“Stay. Please. Europe’ll still be there after we’ve worked this out.”_

_No. No, no, no._ They’d been so damn _close_. “No, no, Spike. No! Don’t listen to him!” He couldn’t hear her. He turned away from the elevator, away from freedom, away from _her_. “Damn it!” She turned and strode towards the wall, punching it with all of the force she wished she could use on the hotel’s owner. “Damn you, Angel!” She punched it again, over and over, leaving half a dozen holes. “Damn you.”

“Buffy....”

She took a deep breath to steady herself and looked at Giles. “I know,” she said quietly. “It’s not Angel’s fault, but….” She trailed off at the odd look on her watcher’s face.

“We need to talk,” he said, opening the file. “These are files that were… ‘forgotten’ and very nearly didn’t make it to us. The amulet was very specifically calibrated to both the purity of Angel’s soul and his innate goodness. It was meant only to weaken the First Evil and temporarily render the Hellmouth dormant.”

Buffy stared at him for a moment, unable to process right away. Weaken the FE and make the Hellmouth temporarily dormant…. Spike’s soul and his innate goodness…. The FE had been _severely_ weakened and the Hellmouth utterly destroyed. Innate goodness sounded like it was something different from the soul. It was just… Spike. Even before the soul, he’d been something special. Something extraordinary, and they’d refused to see it.

“The calibration and the fact that it was meant to capture Angel means that it’s tied to his psyche. Everything the Angel in the amulet does is because that is what Angel would have done in that situation. All of the actions of his people are based either on Angel’s idea of them or the aspect of Spike they represent.”

What did any of that even mean? Tied to Angel’s psyche? That couldn’t mean what she thought it meant. Angel was a hero. A _champion_. A… jealous asshole who was always butting into her life and had a history with Spike.

All of the jabs against Spike and his intelligence from Angel and his crew in that hellscape. All of the times he was treated like a pest that didn’t matter, that was less than nothing. That was… beneath them. All of that was because of how the real Angel felt about Spike. They hated each other… and yet, the Angel in the amulet – supposedly directly influenced by the real one – had asked him to stay. Why?

_Because he wasn’t just leaving,_ Buffy realized. It was all about that damn jealousy and possessiveness. Spike had been planning to find her, and Angel couldn’t stand the thought of her being with anyone who wasn’t him. Spike was still in that damn amulet because Angel refused to let her go, even though he was the one who had forced them apart.

“There… there’s still hope, Buffy,” Willow said reassuringly. “I’ve still got some of my spells woven in. It’s not over yet.”

Buffy breathed in and out a few times to get in control of herself. “Right. Okay, Willow, keep trying. I’ve got my cell phone. Call me if you get him out.”

“Call you…?” Willow frowned. “Where are you going to be?”

“At Wolfram & Hart. Mr. CEO and me need to have a long talk. Involving my fists and his face.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue and scenes taken from the Angel episode “Destiny.”

“Hey, you can’t go in there!” Angel’s receptionist – _not_ Harmony, thank god – yelled as Buffy strode past her towards Angel’s office.

She ignored the woman and kicked the door open. Angel was sitting on the edge of his desk, talking to a disturbingly adorable lizard woman in a lavender power suit and really awesome shoes. She was definitely going to have to ask the demon where she did her shopping. But not now. Later. After Spike was safe.

“Damn the legali-” Angel stopped in mid word at the sight of her, his eyes taking on that puppy dog look she’d once thought was all soulful and loving. The fact that he’d been able to mimic that look when was he’d been soulless really should have clued her in, but she hadn’t wanted to think about it. “Buffy….”

He said her name like she was a precious treasure. One that should be locked away in a museum and placed on a glass-shielded pedestal, forever untouched. She didn’t want that. She wasn’t some marble statue of a girl. She was just Buffy, a young woman who could be both terrible and kind – and everything in between – and deserved to be cherished for all that she was.

The lizard woman blinked at her, a clear film flicking in from the side before the more human-like lids came down. She tilted her head in a way that reminded Buffy painfully of Spike. “You are Buffy Summers? I expected you to be….”

“Taller?” Buffy suggested when the other woman trailed off, her voice harsher than she’d intended.

“…younger,” she said after a hesitation. She glanced at Angel and then at Buffy. “My apologies, Ms. Summers.”

Younger? Yeah, that made sense. Angel liked to believe she was still the same little girl who had fallen in love with him all those years ago. She wasn’t that girl anymore. That girl had died the night she’d set Angelus loose, though she’d shuffled around in the corpse for a while, like some kind of vampire in desperate need of dusting. Now even that was gone, the vestiges burned away in the Hellmouth.

“That’ll be all for now, Penelope,” Angel said quietly, his gaze still locked on Buffy.

The lizard demon – Penelope, apparently – nodded. “Yes, sir. Eve requested my expertise once I had a free moment in my schedule. I’ll be in her office if you need me.”

Buffy barely noticed as Penelope scurried away, her attention focused on Angel. He approached her, looking like he expected a hug or a kiss. Probably both. What he got was a punch to the jaw. Not the nose. That was… special.

He reeled back, looking like she’d just spat a tap-dancing cobra at him. The expression was almost funny. Dumbfounded incredulity, like he couldn’t believe his sweet little Buffums would actually hit him, even though it wasn’t exactly the first time. He was going to have to get used to the idea again, because there was going to be a lot of hitting.

“Buffy, what –”

She hit him again before he could even finish his sentence. She really didn’t want to hear it. “We almost had him,” she spat. “We almost had him, but _you_ asked him to stay. You wouldn’t let him come to me, you possessive son of a bitch!”

This time he caught her fist before it could smash into his face. He spat out blood from her last punch and worked his jaw a bit to make sure it was still where it was supposed to be, giving her his best “what do you think you’re doing, you silly girl?” look. She hated that look. She wanted to beat it right off of him.

“Okay, you want to try that again, using words that actually make sense? And no hitting!”

She swung her other fist, burying it in his gut this time, since he wouldn’t expect it. He staggered back with a grunt and released her. She followed it up with a roundhouse kick that sent him crashing into his nice, expensive-looking desk.

“But I’m really enjoying the hitting,” she said with a mock pout. “Like, really a lot. I think it’s good for the stress, you know?” Her expression hardened. “And probably for the soul, too.”

Angel’s eyes narrowed as he staggered back upright. “This is about Spike.”

“Finally figured that out, huh? Yeah, it’s about Spike, and the fact that you’ve done everything you could to put him down and keep him in that damn amulet.”

He sighed and gave her that condescending look she hated so much. “I know you’re in pain and need to work it out somehow, but you really can’t blame me for what the Angel in the amulet has been doing. That isn’t me.”

He did have a very small point. She _was_ in pain and _did_ need to work it out. There had been another time she’d needed that, and another vampire she’d taken it out on. _Put it all on me,_ he’d said, and she had. The difference was, Spike really hadn’t deserved it while Angel absolutely did.

She widened her eyes, feigning surprise. “You mean the information you deliberately tried to hide from us was wrong? The amulet _isn’t_ directly tied to your psyche with your actions fueled by your actual personality and influenced by what you’d do?”

His expression went through several changes in only a few seconds. From shock to the tiniest speck of guilt to annoyance and finally to anger. “Damn it, Buffy, it’s _Spike_! Do you honestly expect me to be happy about him being in the running for Buffy cookies?”

He still didn’t get it. She had known he wouldn’t understand right away. That he wouldn’t _want_ to understand right away, but she hadn’t thought his stubborn blindness would last this long. _Of course, denying what we don’t want to see has always been one of the few things we have in common._

“He isn’t in the running,” she said quietly, “because there never _was_ a running. You don’t even _like_ cookies, Angel. Spike does. He likes all of the human things you turn your nose up at.”

He stared at her blankly for a moment, still not getting it. Would she have to spell it out for him before he finally believed she was over him? That she wasn’t still pining over the relationship _he_ kept insisting they could never have? The one he kept rubbing her nose in every time she tried to move on. Museum pieces weren’t supposed to move on. They could be shipped from museum to museum, but they still ended up displayed on their pedestals, trapped behind the glass.

“Okay, you’re mad at me for trying to keep back information that wasn’t really important. I get that,” he said slowly, as if trying to explain something to a five-year-old. Information that wasn’t really important? Did he honestly believe the bullshit coming out of his mouth? “But you can’t just throw your life away for Spike. He’s _evil_.”

“He has a soul.” There was a lot more to it than that, but that was the part that would mean the most to Angel.

His expression twisted into something bitter and ugly. “Yeah, a soul, but not much of one. Mine torments me every day, but Spike? He gets to have a nice bout of crazy in a basement, and then he’s _fine_. I suppose I really shouldn’t expect anything more from a soul he got just so he could get into your pants.”

Buffy had thought she couldn’t be any more pissed off at Angel than she’d been when she stormed into his office. She had been wrong. She threw herself at him, fists flying as white-hot rage seared through her.

**…**

“Almost did me in a dozen times over,” Spike said evenly as he gazed up at the opera house balcony where his grandsire stood. The man should have been bloody _proud_ of him, of what he’d accomplished, but instead, he demeaned it, claimed he wasn’t a real hero because he’d supposedly only saved the world once. Maybe so, if you only counted when he’d had a soul, but he’d done it at least twice without, once even thwarting Angel himself. “But I kept fighting. ‘Cause I knew it was the right thing to do.”

It had been the only way to make himself safe. He’d hurt the girl. Not physically – yeah, there had been a physical component, but they’d done worse to each other as foreplay, and it was barely a mosquito bite compared to what she’d done to him in that alley – but emotionally. He’d been drunk and hurting and confused from all the mixed signals, but none of those were an excuse. Just reasons that could never absolve him for destroying Buffy’s trust in him.

Spike jumped up onto the balcony and looked right into Angel’s face. “It’s my destiny.”

And it was. Destinies weren’t handed down on silver platters for the likes of him. No, if you weren’t a special sanctified monkey like Angel, destiny was what you made for yourself. You fought for it and shaped it from the clay you dug out of fate with your own two hands. 

“Really?” Angel said with a dismissive sneer. “Heard it was just to get into a girl’s pants.”

Spike was used to Angel belittling him and treating his accomplishments like they meant nothing. It hurt, but there was no real point in getting riled up by it. This though? Reducing Buffy to just “some girl” who was only important because of her body? Spike slid the toe of his boot under a metal rod of rebar and kicked it up into his hand before taking a swing. He wasn’t going to let Angel get away with that kind of disrespect.

**…**

_Just so he could get into your pants…._ The words echoed in Buffy’s head as she lashed out at Angel. Spike’s look of horror in that damn bathroom flashed through her mind with those words, along with the broken shadow she’d found in the high school basement. The shattered wreck draping himself over a cross and desperately asking if they could rest. The scared, confused, and tormented man begging her to stake him in another basement, this one full of the fledglings he’d been forced to make by the First.

Angel blocked her first blow, but not the follow-up. It slammed into his face with a satisfying crunch.

“Spike wasn’t _fine_ after being crazy in the basement,” she said, her knee coming up in a lightning move towards his groin. Both hands flashed down in an attempt to stop her, leaving his face open to another punch. His skin split, dampening her knuckles with cool blood. “I don’t know who told you what, but none of them really saw. None of them _knew_.”

She beat her words into him, able to do as much damage as she was because he wasn’t actively fighting back yet, just blocking and dodging what he could. He wasn’t taking her seriously. Later, she would probably be pissed off at him for it, but right now, it wasn’t about her.

“He was _broken._ ” She kicked Angel, sending him staggering back against the wall.

Spike had been broken even before the soul. She’d played yo-yo with his heart, tossing him away and pulling him back until the string had snapped. And then he’d made a terrible mistake, and to make up for it, he’d shattered himself into pieces in the hopes that he could be put back together as someone worthy of her love. The fact that he’d been able to do that, to make the decision to get his soul despite being a demon, was proof that he’d already been worthy. She just hadn’t been able to see it.

Buffy grabbed Angel and pulled him away from the wall before tossing him across the room. “The guilt shattered him, Angel. It tore him apart and left him bleeding. Do you have _any_ idea who he used to be? Before Dru turned him? He was shy and sweet and –” Her voice broke, and she had to stop talking for a moment.

What might have been shame flickered through Angels eyes before being replaced by something harsh. “He’s good at fooling people, Buffy. He played you. He had to have, or he wouldn’t have gotten over –”

“He didn’t ‘get over’ anything,” she snapped, charging at him and kicking him in the ribs. “He should have had time to recover. He _didn’t_.” She hit him, over and over, each point she made punctuated with an explosion of violence. He actually started trying to fight back at that point, but she’d hurt him enough that he was mostly ineffective. “The guilt _ate_ at him…. The First _ate_ at him…. His own insecurities _ate_ at him.... He was taken and _tortured_!” She paused, panting for breath. “And no one…. Even…. _Cared_!”

She grabbed Angel by the shirt and flung him into the remains of his desk. “Even before the soul, we went through more than you could ever imagine, so don’t you _dare_ stand there and say he did it to get into my pants! Don’t you _dare_ say he was _fine_! He wasn’t.” She paused and closed her eyes, taking deep breaths as she struggled for calm. She opened them again, giving him a cool stare. “He was just able to look beyond himself and put away his own problems for the sake of everyone else.”

She saw it then. Actual guilt in those “soulful” brown eyes. “Buffy, I….”

She held up her hand in a stopping motion as he trailed off. “I don’t want to hear it. The cookies are done, and they aren’t for you. Real love is selfless. That’s something Spike knew even before the soul. If you really feel something for me, you’ll let me go.”

She turned and walked away before he could say anything, leaving him to contemplate her words alone.

**…**

Spike stared down at Angel, at the piece of wood shoved through the older vampire’s shoulder. He’d won. He’d… he’d actually _won_. Against his grandsire. Could have put the smarmy ponce out of everyone’s misery, but….

“Probably should have dusted you,” he said, changing out of game face. “But honestly… I don’t want to hear her bitch about it.”

That was part of it, but there was also the fact that he didn’t actually want Angel dead, no matter what all he’d done. Angel was a person, trying, in his own muddled, Neanderthal way, to find redemption. And… if the other man was dust, Spike would never win his approval, something he wanted even if he really didn’t want to acknowledge it.

He didn’t want to think about that right now. He just wanted to get this over with. He turned away from Angel and walked towards the cup. Perpetual Torment then, was it? He’d been stuck in L.A. as a ghost with Angel and no Buffy for about three months. You didn’t get much tormentier than that.

He reached for the cup. This was his chance. He’d finally beaten the old man, and now he was going to take part of the wanker’s grand “destiny” for himself. A right proper two-fingered salute for both Captain Forehead and the bloody Powers that Be.

“Spike, wait!” Angel called out. “Wait.” Spike rolled his eyes. Couldn’t just take his defeat gracefully, could he? “That’s not a prize you’re holding. It’s not a trophy. It’s a burden. It’s a cross.”

Spike glanced over at him. The stake was out of his shoulder now, and he was standing. He sounded… almost sincere. As if he actually gave a crap. Spike put the cup back on the pedestal, considering. Did he actually want this? Did he _want_ perpetual torment and to become a human again? Not really, but….

“One you’re gonna have to bear till it burns you to ashes,” Angel continued, as if he actually had _any_ idea of what that was like. “Believe me, I know. So ask yourself: Is this really the destiny that was meant for you? Do you even really want it? Or is it that you just want to take something away from me?”

That sanctimonious, self-righteous sod. He _knew_ , did he? And had the sheer steel-plated stones to act as if finally taking something from Angel wasn’t something Spike deserved, after all that Angel had taken from him?

Spike just shrugged and grabbed the cup, refusing to show his anger. He’d finally, _finally_ beaten Angel, and that was all that mattered. “Bit of both,” he said honestly.

“Spike…!”

Angel lunged at him, but it was too late. Spike had already taken a drink. For the first split second it tasted of strawberries and moonlight and made him think of Willow. Then… the taste changed and he dropped the cup.

“I-it’s… Mountain Dew,” he said, staring at Angel in confusion.

**…**

In a room of the Hyperion, Willow’s eyes flashed black for a second before she got herself under control. The amulet was a tricky thing, almost sentient in what it could do. She’d only managed to get a little bit of her magic into Spike before the amulet had twisted things again.

The redheaded witch took several deep, cleansing breaths before squaring her shoulders in determination. A little bit was going to have to be enough. She was Willow Rosenberg. She’d once nearly ended the world and had created an entire army of activated Slayers. There was no way one tacky piece of jewelry was going to stop her. She centered herself, reached for that pulse of her magic that was now a part of Spike, and slowly began to pull.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue taken from the Angel episode “Soul Purpose.”

Angel stood outside of the Hyperion, gazing quietly at the building. He still owned the hotel, hadn’t given it up just because he was now CEO of Wolfram & Hart, so he had every right to be there. Despite that, he knew he probably shouldn’t be. Buffy had made it clear that she was through with him. But… well, if he was honest with himself, he wasn’t there for her. He was there for Spike.

There had been so many times, both before and after he’d been cursed with his soul, when Angel could have killed Spike. He’d just never been able to do it. Even on that submarine during World War II, he hadn’t dusted Spike, even though it would have made things easier. He’d just expended the extra energy to keep the younger vampire in line and had even felt a sort of fond regret when forcing him out of the sub.

_Did Dru know,_ Angel wondered, _that he would appeal to me as much as he did to her?_ Probably.

He still remembered when he’d first met William. Angel had tried making a faithful protégé before, but Penn had lacked that spark of true passion and creativity. Dru’s little stray puppy, though? He’d had it in spades, though he’d been too afraid as a human to really let that passion out.

_Standing around thinking about the past isn’t going to accomplish anything,_ _Angel._ He strode towards the door and went inside.

“… you say, you worthless little maggot?” one girl spat at another.

There were only a few of the girls down in the lobby, and what they were doing was none of Angel’s business. Still, Buffy should be dealing with this. They were her responsibility, and she was shirking it.

“What’s wrong, Kennedy? Can’t clean the wax out of your ears without five servants to help you do it? I _said_ that just because you’re humping the witch doesn’t me-”

Angel went up the stairs and down the hall to the room he’d given Buffy, not bothering to listen in to the rest of what the girl was saying. He closed his hand around the doorknob, but didn’t turn it. He could hear her in there. Buffy. Crying.

“Why didn’t he get on the damn boat?” She sounded both angry and heartbroken. “That excuse was so…. Does he really think any of that would matter to me?”

“It’s going to be okay, sweetie, I promise.” Willow’s voice. “I mean, yeah, it would have been nice to get him out all at once but the siphoning _is_ working. We just need to keep the amulet distracted, and we’ll keep sneaking him out in little dribbles.”

“That may even be why he came up with that excuse. He isn’t fully himself anymore, after all,” an unfamiliar male voice added soothingly.

Angel flung the door open, eyes immediately locking on the man patting Buffy on the shoulder. He was about Giles’s age maybe, and nowhere near as handsome as Angel himself. Or even Spike. The man was standing next to the bed while Buffy and Willow sat on the edge, the latter projecting an image of Spike and Harmony drinking together at a bar.

The real Spike was lying comatose in the bed, Buffy holding one of his hands. Her thumb absently stroked back and forth across his knuckles as she stared at the projection in obvious distress. The amulet was in her hand, a pinkish gold thread of energy connecting to a five-gallon fish tank taking up most of the bedside table. An Orb of Thesulah was suspended in some kind of clear gel in the tank, the bottom eighth of the gel tinted the same pinkish gold as the energy thread.

Buffy noticed Angel was there and surged to her feet, standing defensively between him and Spike. “What are you doing here?” she asked harshly.

His gaze drifted from Buffy’s angry face to what he could see of Spike. What _was_ he doing there? He’d decided he wanted to help, but should he? Or should he just pull her out of the way and stake Spike? He honestly didn’t want to, not really. But what if that was the only way Buffy could move on, to have the normal life he wanted for her?

_What would Cordy say about all of this?_ he found himself wondering. She’d glare at him with her hands on her hips, and tell him he was being a self-absorbed, controlling pig. She’d tell him to get over himself, put on his big boy pants, and be a champion, not a jealous idiot.

She’d be absolutely right. He _was_ being a jealous idiot, and it wasn’t all just about Buffy. His soul had been forced on him as a punishment. It had tormented him for so long. He’d been able to tell himself that the torment meant he was a good person, that his soul was pure and righteous. But then there was Spike. Spike who _fought_ for his soul. A soul that Angel had tried to dismiss as lesser. He’d told himself it must have been a tainted, corrupted soul, and that’s why Spike seemed to have adjusted so much faster.

_But then I dug into the information about that damn amulet and learned the truth,_ he thought bitterly. He should have known. Even at his most vicious, Spike had always had an odd sort of sweetness to him, no matter how much Angel had tried to beat it out.

Without a soul, he’d been able to love enough to go and get one, while Angel… hadn’t. He wanted to believe it was because the demon in him was stronger than Spike’s, but he knew it wasn’t true. Spike was the way he was because William had been a stronger – in some ways, anyway – and better man than Liam.

“Damn it, Angel, answer me, or get out!” Buffy shouted. “Actually, no, don’t bother to answer, just get out!”

“I’m here to help,” he said quietly. He looked into her hazel eyes, flashing with anger. Huh. He’d forgotten they were hazel. If asked, he would have said they were blue. How had he forgotten?

_Because she was right. I don’t… like cookies._ He just liked the smell of them, knowing they were there. It was like with all things human. If left to his own devices, he’d let it all go on around him, observing, but never really engaging.

“We don’t need your –”

“Buffy,” the unknown man said, gently cutting her off. Angel had almost forgotten he was there. “I think, perhaps, he could prove most useful. If Willow were to create a link between Angel and myself, it’s possible I could go into the amulet again, this time filtered through his psyche.”

“Mathias, no! You can’t,” Willow protested. “Not after what the amulet did to you last time.”

“I must,” the man – Mathias, apparently – insisted, his voice still gentle. “I’ll not pretend I’m not still haunted by my last experience, but I won’t give up. The amulet is influenced by this man’s psyche.” He inclined his head towards Angel. “Filtering through it should give me a certain amount of protection from it.”

Willow bit her lip, obviously torn, then looked towards Angel. “You really want to help?”

_Did_ he want to help? Yes and no, but more one than the other. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “I want to help.”

**…**

Willow had been doing a lot of magic lately. More than she was comfortable with, honestly, but like Mathias, she wasn’t giving up. She owed it to Buffy, and, well, she’d always kind of liked Spike. Despite the whole being kidnapped and broken bottle in the face thing, the drunken Spike sobbing on her shoulder over Dru had been oddly endearing.

_And then he tried to reassure me that I was bitable, even though he was really upset about his newly discovered… um, “issue,”_ she thought. He’d always been kind of charming, in his own weird way, and she’d honestly been upset the time he’d tried to kill himself in Xander’s basement. So despite what she’d considered a creepy crush on Buffy at the time, she’d liked him, even before he’d taken the time to give her tips on how to take care of a mindsucked Tara.

_Tara_ …. Willow took a deep breath and started gathering her magic, channeling it down through her hands as she painted symbols on Mathias’s half-naked body. She’d lost Tara. There was no way in hell she was going to let Buffy lose Spike. The amulet wasn’t going to win. She wouldn’t allow it.

“What’s that all about, anyway?” Angel asked suddenly, staring at the fish tank.

They’d brought a couple of chairs up to the room, and Mathias and Angel were sitting on them, the former holding the amulet with his eyes closed. She knew he was using his psychometry to passively read the thing while he waited for her to finish the symbols. That was safe enough. He couldn’t actually go into it unless she augmented and slightly transmogrified his powers.

Angel was nowhere near as calm. He was fidgeting and obviously trying to distract himself from the two figures on the bed. Buffy had been running herself ragged, to the point that Willow had – with her permission of course – used a sleep spell on her. He may have come to help Spike, but that didn’t mean Angel was exactly happy to see Buffy snuggled up to him.

“It’s a holding tank,” Willow said in answer to Angel’s question. “I tried to put some of my magic into Spike, so I could pull him out, but only a little bit got in. So instead of yanking him out all at once, he’s sort of… spooling out. The orb is collecting pieces of his soul and the gel is holding his… um… _self,_ I guess is the best way to explain it.”

She was actually pretty proud of that piece of magic. She didn’t know what kind of effects an incomplete soul and consciousness would have on someone, especially with parts of it still being in what was basically hell, so she’d made the holding tank. Once it was full, she’d pour soul and self back into the body they belonged to.

Since a small part of him was already in the tank, Mathias had been right about Spike not fully being himself anymore. Willow was pretty sure, though, that the amulet had also had a hand in Spike’s dumb excuse for not going back to Buffy. Harmony was the embodiment of his insecurities, and Willow doubted the ditzy vampire had been sent running around knocking people out for the fun of it. The amulet had been stirring up and strengthening Spike’s insecurities. 

“You’re going to curse his soul back into him?” Angel asked, an odd tone to his voice.

“Huh?” Willow’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Curse? Why would I need to curse…?” Her eyes widened as she realized what he was talking about. “Oh! Oh, no, that, um…. He doesn’t need a curse. Your soul… it… well, it’s in there because of the curse, so the curse had to be used to put it back. Both times that I put it back. Spike’s though…. It’s, um, integrated, I guess? Like a human’s, instead of just a cursed vampire.”

Spike had fought for and earned his soul. Because of that, his soul was held in by the same force that held in a human soul. It was tethered the same way, and as long as his body wasn’t dust, that tether still existed. But with Angel… well, the curse was all that kept it in him. A sort of cursey glue that kept it from running off to wherever vampire souls went. Considering he already had that tight-lipped “I will hold back my pain, because I am a _man_!” look, Willow was pretty sure Angel didn’t want to hear any more about it.

“Once I finish the last of these symbols, I’m going to need you to focus on someone Mathias can go in as,” she said, changing the subject. Well, _sort of_ changing the subject. It was still about Spike, but considering they were trying to rescue him, talking about the weather wouldn’t be very productive. “Someone good, who the amulet wouldn’t be likely to make on its own.”

“I don’t know. Maybe… maybe Doyle,” Angel said hesitantly.

“Who’s Doyle?” The name sounded vaguely familiar. Was he the guy Buffy had met for about a second when she’d gone to give Angel a piece of her mind after Thanksgiving?

“He… uh, he used to work for me,” Angel said, his face twisting slightly with what looked a lot like grief. “He was a really good guy. A hero. And he’s…. The amulet wouldn’t use him.”

_He’s probably dead,_ Willow thought. That happened a lot with heroes, and the people who hung out with them. She pushed thoughts of death out of her mind and focused on finishing the symbols in silence.

“Okay,” she said once she’d drawn the last one. She smiled reassuringly when Mathias opened his eyes and looked at her. “It’s show time.” She glanced at Angel and put one hand on his forehead and the other on Mathias’s. “Think about Doyle.”

_Come on, Willow, steady now,_ she told herself as she began the complex magic. She tapped into Mathias’s power, giving it a little twist as she slowly and carefully pulled the man’s consciousness through Angel. _Like dredging noodles through flour. Gotta get a nice coating._ She funneled it into the amulet, careful not to disturb the flow of Spike essence going into the tank.

She released the spell and took the amulet from Mathias’s suddenly lax hands. One more surge of magic, and the projection was going again. More time had passed while she’d been preoccupied with getting everything going, but Willow wasn’t sure how much. Spike was in a strip club now, talking a strange man. Was that Doyle? Mathias would have been sucked into the time flow within the amulet, so it was entirely possible he’d already made contact.

_“I want to know who – or what – you are, what you want, and how fast I can snap your forearm before you answer,”_ Spike was saying, clearly upset about something.

_“You can call me Doyle.”_

“That’s not Doyle,” Angel said, eyes narrowed as he watched the projection. “That’s Lindsey.”

Willow frowned, glancing at him, then back to the projection. She’d come a long way from the kind of bumbling witch she’d once been. She hadn’t made any mistakes with her spell. “Could you have been thinking of this Lindsey guy at the same time as Doyle?”

“I met them around the same time, so, yeah, I guess I might have,” Angel admitted with a sigh. “Lindsey is.... Well, he’s not really evil, just sort of gray. How badly does that mess things up?”

Willow studied the projection and smiled. “Actually, I think this is going to work out just fine.”

The more powerful and complex a piece of magic, the more likely it was to gain a sort of pseudo-sentience. Even Angel’s curse had ended up possessing her halfway through to ensure it was completed properly. The amulet was at least as powerful and quite a bit more complex. So far, it hadn’t noticed the siphoning going on.

Willow would keep throwing things at it, doing her best to keep it distracted and everyone safe. Mathias going in as the secret creamy center of a Doyle coated in Lindsey seemed like a good way to do both.

She took a deep breath and did her best to put aside her worry about Mathias. Giles’s friend had his part to play in this, and so did she. She would let him do what he could to keep Spike from giving in to despair while she worked on more spells. Some would just be distractions while others would be legitimate attempts to go ahead and pull him out in one go. She glanced at the painfully slow filling of the tank. No matter what, Spike was coming home. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some scenes and dialogue taken from the season five Angel episode “Damage”

Horrible, wrenching pain as she was ripped asunder. Slayer and young woman, caught in an agonizing moment as they shuffled and fought over bits of the whole, like her parents squabbling over things after the divorce. _This is mine. **No, mine.**_ Pieces torn into even smaller bits and traded back and forth until both sides were grudgingly happy with what they had.

And then it was done. Buffy groaned and slowly climbed to her feet. She was in a hotel room, but not the same one. Probably not even the same hotel. Her body felt weird and unnatural. Was it because the parts of her that made her a slayer had been separated out? Was the fact that her psyche was no longer whole making her body feel like some kind of foreign object?

She looked down at herself and let out a startled scream that was oddly more feminine than normal. Her body didn’t feel right because _she_ was now a _he_. She hurried to the bathroom to stare at her – _him?_ – self in the mirror.

“Oh god,” she whispered in horror. “The damn amulet turned me into Andrew!”

**…**

She was a girl. A girl dragged away and filled with shadows. A girl bound to kill. To protect. She was many girls, through the ages. A peasant girl, a pharaoh’s daughter, the child of those who fished the seas. A girl who lived in the south of France and fought vampires. A Chinese girl during the Boxer Rebellion, fighting a man who was achingly familiar, even if he didn’t look quite the same. She was a dark skinned woman in New York, fighting the same vampire. _I have a son…._ She was the Slayer.

The Slayer-that-was-Buffy blinked and shook her head, trying to shake off the sudden disorientation. What was going on? Where was she? It was a small room covered in disturbing drawings. She didn’t like the room. She had to get out of there. She had to….

 _Spike._ Her entire being seemed to reverberate to the sound of that name, all her determination and power as the Slayer focused on it. She had to find Spike. Now. She went the door and began to pound on it, treating it like an enemy. Nothing would stand between her and her goal.

**…**

Willow might as well have been alone in the room. There were three other people with her, but Mathias was once again quietly sitting in a trance while Spike was still comatose, and Buffy was curled up beside the vampire, also comatose. There was also the Slayer Scythe still held in Willow’s hands, but despite the incredible power in it, it didn’t count as an actual person. Neither did the amulet.

She glared at the thing. Buffy had placed it around her neck, settled over her heart, before being sent inside. Before now, sending Mathias in had been the only real option. Through its connection with Angel, the amulet would have recognized Buffy as someone important to Spike and would have locked her away. Mathias was both an unknown and had an ability that made sending him in relatively easy. Now though….

Filtering Giles’s friend through Angel’s psyche the night before had given Willow the idea of doing the same with Buffy, only filtering her through the Slayer Scythe instead of Angel. She’d been split in two to make things harder for the amulet to figure out, her slayer self and her normal human self.

 _If anyone can get him out all in one go, it’d be Buffy,_ Willow thought, eying the fish tank that held part of Spike’s consciousness and soul. It was working so far, but there was no telling when the amulet would catch on and somehow stop that steady flow.

Sending Buffy _had_ to work. Willow refused to believe that anything – even a gaudy piece of magic with delusions of grandeur – could keep Spike from going to Buffy if she was right there in front of him. Even before the soul, he had followed his Slayer, struggling through the natural evil tendencies of a vampire in an attempt to join her in good. It was something they’d all finally acknowledged during that summer without Buffy, when Spike had helped not only with patrolling but taking care of Dawn as well. It was something all just sort of… forgotten once Buffy was back.

_I guess it was just easier to pretend he was only doing it to get into her pants, and not out of real love…_

The door was suddenly thrown open and Kennedy sauntered in like she owned the place, though her disdainful glance indicated she didn’t really want to. In all the chaos when they’d first arrived at the Hyperion, Kennedy had appropriated one of the best suites for them. Willow hadn’t seen much of it, instead spending most of her time trying to help Buffy and Spike.

When was the last time she’d slept, anyway? Or eaten for that matter? She’d mostly been sustaining herself with magic. Guilt and worry stabbed at her. Was she abusing the magic again? _Could any of this be achieved without magic?_ a voice asked in her head. Willow knew it was her own, but her imagination made it Tara’s. _And is it truly needed, or just something you_ think _is needed?_ Magic was the only way to save Spike in this situation, and he absolutely needed to be saved as soon as possible.

 _That’s your answer then, isn’t it, sweetie?_ the Tara voice said gently.

“You’ve been cooped up in here too long,” Kennedy declared, hands planted on her hips. “I’ve made reservations for us at a nice little place across town.”

Willow frowned at her girlfriend, trying not to be annoyed. Kennedy was trying to be romantic, not rude and presumptuous. “I can’t, you _know_ that. I have to monitor things here and keep the magic going.” She could, theoretically, do both from across town, but it would be a lot more draining and not as accurate.

“I’m your girlfriend, and I’ve barely seen you since we closed the Hellmouth,” Kennedy complained. “Can’t you just take a few hours off from helping the damn vampire and spend time with me?”

Before Willow could ask just what was stopping the other woman from spending time with her while she worked her magic, Dawn came in through the still open door. The teen was carrying a tray with a thick roast beef sandwich, apple slices, a small bag of chips, and a bottle of soda. There was also a book tucked between her elbow and her side.

Dawn glanced between the two of them before walking past Kennedy and offering the tray to Willow. “I brought you some grub. Figured you could use some non-magicy fuel to fuel the magicy stuff.”

“Thanks,” Willow said with a smile as she took the tray. Protein, carbs, some good fruit, and a dose of caffeine and sugar. That would do a lot to keep her going.

Kennedy gave her a tight-lipped look before turning and storming away, slamming the door behind her. _I should go after her,_ Willow thought vaguely. Instead, she sat on the edge of the bed and sighed heavily before starting in on her food.

She would have gone after Tara. _No, I wouldn’t have_ , she realized. Tara would have been right there with her the entire time, giving her whatever support she needed. Even if she couldn’t work magic, Tara would have been supporting her. She would have been the one bringing food, not Dawn.

“Would it be too much of a distraction if I read out loud?” Dawn asked, holding up the book she’d brought.

“Go ahead.”

The bed wasn’t exactly ginormous or anything, but Dawn managed to find room at the foot of it. She opened up the book and began to read. The Jungle Book, it sounded like. For that first month-and-a-half after Buffy’s fall from Glory’s tower, Dawn had usually woken up screaming at least once in the night. After about a week, Spike had started soothing her back to sleep by reading some of Kipling’s stories.

Willow took enough of a break to finish her meal, the backdrop of Dawn’s reading a calming influence, then got back to work. She focused her magic and brought up four projections. One for Spike, one for Mathias, and two for Buffy.

**…**

The Slayer stood in a warehouse, gazing out. So many creatures getting in her way, getting between her and her vampire. She’d slain them all, stopping them before they could hurt any innocent people. It was her calling.

A familiar sensation suddenly tingled through her. Vampire, but with several subtleties to the feeling that were specific to one particular member of the species. The shocked relief was enough to keep her from reacting until he walked up behind her.

“Likin’ the view, are we?”

She turned to face him. She was definitely liking the view now. Spike. With an inarticulate cry of fierce, wild joy, she flung herself at him.

**…**

“What the hey?” Willow blurted out as she stared at the projections, interrupting Dawn’s reading.

“What is it, what’s wrong?” the girl asked anxiously.

“I’m not sure,” Willow said slowly, trying to figure it out.

One of the Buffy projections was overlapping with Spike’s, but after the initial meeting, they weren’t matching. In Spike’s, they were fighting. In Buffy’s, she was standing confused and alone, Spike having vanished with a trace.

The amulet was trying to keep them from being together. Willow’s eyes narrowed, and her magic pulsed. Oh no, not on _her_ watch. The amulet wasn’t the only thing that knew how to twist things around.

**…**

Being Andrew was very seriously of the uber weird. Why would the amulet do that? Angel didn’t know Andrew. Hell, Buffy wasn’t entirely sure he’d ever even _seen_ Andrew, even after they’d taken over the hotel. If not the amulet, then Willow must have done it, but that didn’t really make sense either.

Maybe because Andrew was one of the few normal humans in the group who hadn’t clocked in years as a demon hunter? That could be. Or maybe she’d been turned into Andrew because the damn mushroom boy was always messing with her stuff. Maybe the scythe had gone all mushroomy itself and absorbed Andrew flavor or something.

Either way, she was now stuck as Andrew, playing out the scenario the amulet had come up with. So far, it involved waiting around in a conference room at Wolfram & Hart with Angel’s lackeys while on the hunt for some seriously wacked out Slayer. Thank god she wasn’t actually real. _Though there could be some poor girls out in the real world in the same boat as Dana._ She’d have to talk to Giles about that, and about helping them in some way.

The door opened, and Wesley glanced towards it. “Angel, we were just about to –”

He stopped talking as Buffy turned her chair to face the new arrivals. There he was, standing next to Angel. Awake and aware.

“Spike?” She’d known he’d be around somewhere, but part of her hadn’t quite been able to believe she’d see him.

“Oh for the love of....” Spike sounded somewhere between annoyed and exasperated, which made sense because, well, Andrew.

“Spike.” She stood up and ran to him, resting her hands on his shoulders. “It’s you. It’s really you.” And not just the limp, lifeless shell of his body.

She hugged him, sobbing while random Andrew babble fell out of her mouth. If she focused, she could control what she was saying, but right now, she didn’t care about that. All she cared about was Spike. He wasn’t hugging her back, which made sense because, again, Andrew. It was enough, just to feel Spike in her arms, to feel the random little twitches of an aware person and the habitual breathing.

She let go and backed up just enough to look him in the eyes. To see _him_. The personality and the soul shining through. She reached up to cup his cheeks in her hands, needing to touch him again.

“…more beautiful than ever,” she said at the tail end of more Andrew babble.

Then she hugged him again. It may have been her imagination or just wishful thinking, but it almost felt as if something inside of him flowed into her, finding home.

**…**

She didn’t know what had happened last time, or why Spike had vanished, but he was back again, this time showing up in the basement she’d found herself drawn to. The Slayer wanted to grab him and take him out of this horrible place, but she stayed cautious, just in case her actions had made things go wrong before.

She slowly approached him, circling and stalking like a lioness with her prey. She wouldn’t hurt this prey. It was a vampire, but also beloved, to be protected and cherished. She slipped closer, then sprang, intending to grab him and drag him away to where he’d be safe.

She stumbled on nothing before she could get to him, and the entire world swirled and spun, the basement dissolving into a pinkish gold void. What was that? What had just…? It didn’t matter. Spike was with her, though he looked a bit different. He was wispy and see-through with pieces missing. He was wearing his usual black clothing and leather jacket, but his hair was brown and curly and a pair of glasses were perched on his nose.

“Buffy,” he breathed, eyes dark with longing as he looked at her.

The Slayer knew, even without being able to see herself, that she now looked like the self that was Buffy. That part of her was the dominant one right now, and he recognized it. Was drawn to it.

“Come to me,” she said, holding out her hands. “Just come to me, and I can get you out of here.”

“I....” He took a hesitant step towards her. He looked so lost and confused, but he took a few more steps.

Then his hands were in hers, his skin warm instead of cool. “Buffy,” he said again, leaning in to rest his forehead against hers. She could just barely feel the rims of his glasses.

She basked in the feel of him – so warm and sweet – for a moment, just enjoying it. God, she’d missed him so much. She finally pulled back a little to look at him again, her hands shifting to wrap around his wrists.

“Good to see you again, love,” he said quietly with a soft little smile. Then he frowned, a pained look flickering across his beautiful face. “Somethin’s going on…. Somethin’s not....”

He screamed in sudden agony, and Buffy yanked him towards her as he started to fade away.

“Spike! No, stay with me! You have to stay with me!”

“Buffy! God, it hurts!” he gasped out, his voice sounding like it was coming from a huge distance.

And then he was gone, all except for his hands, still held firmly by Buffy.

**…**

“Oh god,” Dawn said, feeling sick as she stared at the projection showing what was happening to Spike. His hands….

She jerked back with a scream and fell off of the bed when Buffy suddenly lurched up into a sitting position. Her sister’s jaw dropped and pinkish gold light poured out of her mouth and eyes to join the thin thread coming out of the amulet. It rushed into the fish tank.

The flow of light stopped coming from Buffy, leaving her panting and dazed. Her eyes found Dawn’s as she got back on the bed, then drifted to the projection where Spike was tied up and handless at the mercy of an insane slayer. Buffy turned just in time to throw up over the side of the bed instead of all over Spike’s unconscious body.

Dawn crawled across the mattress to her and hold back her hair. “I know, it’s awful,” she murmured once Buffy was done.

Awful didn’t even begin to cut it. Poor Buffy, coming back to see that and barfing for real after metaphysically upchucking essence of Spike. Dawn hugged her close, being the strong one for once as she gently rubbed her big sister’s back.

“I did that,” Buffy whispered hoarsely. “I did that to him. I held on when I should have let go. He’s hurt because I didn’t let go. I….”

“No, Buffy, no.” She pushed Buffy away and pointed towards the fish tank. “You did the right thing. Look.”

It was now a third of the way full.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some scenes and dialogue taken from the season five Angel episode “You’re Welcome”

For a long time, she floated in a warm pool of nothingness. She had a body somewhere that she was vaguely aware of, but it didn’t feel like hers anymore. It hadn’t truly been hers for a long time. She wasn’t sure she wanted it anymore, after what it had done.

 _Not really you, love, now was it?_ a soft voice murmured through the nothing. It was either high for a man or low for a woman and had an accent kind of like Wesley’s.

The nothing was slowly filled with a soft golden glow that then gave way to a pretty little garden. There was a fountain in the center surrounded by benches. A person – she couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman – rose from a bench and smiled at her. Sudden warmth blossomed inside her. She felt loved and oddly safe.

“Hello, there.” It was the same voice from before.

“Who are you?” she asked. It should have felt wrong to question, but it felt like it was okay, that she wasn’t meant to grovel. That worked for her. Groveling really wasn’t her thing. “What is this place?”

“Who do you think I am?”

The question was heavy with amusement, but not the condescending kind. This amusement invited you to join in. That was kind of at odds with the others she’d encountered, but she suddenly knew what she was dealing with.

“You’re one of the Powers That Be.”

“Bingo, sweets,” the person responded. “And this is a little place in your mind that I’ve temporarily made my own so that we may talk.” She – he? It? – cocked their head and studied her. “Poor girl, you’ve been treated quite horribly by some of the others, haven’t you? I’ve a task for you, too, but I’ll be asking for your help, not just taking it.”

She sighed. “What help does Angel need? I care about the man, but I swear, he wouldn’t be able to find his own butt with both hands and a flashlight without me.” Oh god, just how long had she been in the nothing? What kind of trouble had he gotten into without her?

The… being’s perfect nose wrinkled in disgust, and she felt a stab of pain. She wanted to take the being in her arms and make everything better somehow. She had to fix things. How could she…?

“Many of my fellows have their sticky little fingers all up in Angel’s pie, but I do not. I’m more interested in the _other_ souled vampire.”

“The other…?” There was another souled vampire? How long _had_ she been out of it?

“The Powers That Be are many different things, my dear.” The being gently took her hand and led her to one of the benches. They sat down together. “Some of us embody concepts. My particular concept is love. This other souled vampire – Spike – he’s _mine_ , and he’s become caught in a trap meant for Angel. The others are content to leave things as they are. I am not.”

“You want me to do something to save him?”

Spike had a soul? Too weird. She didn’t really have anything against helping him, though, despite the whole thing with the Gem of Amara. He’d complimented her hair and had noticed she’d been to the gym. So, a soul _and_ great taste. Definitely worthy of being saved.

“I do,” the being said simply. “You’ve a choice, though.”

“I’ll do it. Just tell me what I have to do.”

The being stood, eyes blazing with determination. “Cordelia Chase, do what the other Powers refuse to do.” The being was giving off serious badass vibes, which made sense. Love could be all soft and squishy, but it also led people to attempt the impossible and make hard choices. “Go and help rescue my bitch.”

**…**

Spike was in trouble, and there was no one to blame but himself. Not that he’d ever really been all that inclined to pass blame about, mind. Still and all, was nice when you could point the finger at someone else and take comfort in the fact that wasn’t you what had buggered things all to hell. But that wasn’t the case here. He’d got himself into this mess, and he’d get himself out of it.

 _Almost there,_ he thought, absently nibbling on his lower lip. _Steady on, mate. You can do this._ He was on his last legs, but if he could just get past this wave of enemies, all would be tickety-boo, now wouldn’t it? He took a deep breath and dove into battle, jumping, dodging, and attacking as best he could. Finally, he made it through. Just one little jump between him and safety. He was going to make it. He was…. One of his hands spasmed suddenly, sending the controller to the floor and his character arse over tits into a sodding bottomless pit.

“Bloody buggering hell!” he snarled in disgust, slumping back against the couch.

God, he was useless. Couldn’t even play a sodding _video game_. No wonder he’d buggered things up so badly with Dana. Poor girl. Totally off her trolley. Over a hundred years of experience with a madwoman should have helped him deal with the situation, but instead he’d somehow messed things up right proper, hadn’t he? _Some hero,_ he thought bitterly, staring at his hands. Lopped right off, and then bloody _Angel_ had swooped in to save the day.

What really mattered was that the girl was getting what she needed from people who knew what was what with her. He should be thinking of that, and not dwelling on the particulars of who had saved the day. It was just…. Sometimes he wanted what Angel had. Not the big, fancy office and fleet of shiny cars, though he had to admit the cars at least were nice. No, he wanted the recognition. Just someone, anyone, to give him a kind look and tell him he’d done good.

He tried to shake off the mood, but it clung to him like treacle. Ever since the incident with Dana, he’d felt… empty. Like something had been pulled out of him when she’d taken his hands. Something that hadn’t been returned by the reattachment surgery.

The middle finger on his right hand started twitching spasmodically. He glared at it and clenched his fists, forcing himself to ignore the unpleasant tingle that surged through both hands. _So bloody useless…._ The fact that he was still recovering made a good excuse for why he wasn’t out helping the hopeless like Doyle wanted him to.

The thing was, though, that he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He’d barely even been able to drag himself out of the apartment for smokes, booze, and blood. What was even the point of it all? He’d helped save the world three times – four if you counted when he’d double crossed Adam to save his own arse – and only one of those times had been with the soul. A soul he’d bloody well fought for and _earned_.

Angel got one forced on him and had spent two years after actively trying to still be evil. And, yet, Angel was the one living the high life with praise and all he wanted served up on a silver sodding platter – the jammy bastard – while Spike was stuck in another sodding basement.

 _Not that I actually deserve the posh digs, either,_ he admitted. He’d never quite reached Angelus levels of depravity, but the things he _had_ done…. He was a monster. He deserved nothing more than the dank little hole he was in. He sure as hell didn’t deserve Buffy, no matter what his subconscious seemed to think.

He heard her sometimes, her voice echoing in his mind and begging him to go to her. All in his head, of course. Buffy wouldn’t want him back, not really. She’d said she loved him, but he knew the truth. There was nothing good or clean in him. No one could ever love him.

Hearing Buffy was painful enough, but the other voice was almost worse. Dawn, reading to him from the same book he’d used to help her get through her grief. That was even more impossible. His Nibblet – _no, not mine. Not anymore. Another thing I’ve buggered up_ – despised him, as she should, after what he’d nearly done.

As much as it hurt, though, he had to admit there was a sort of comfort in the voices. They made him feel less alone. Less like he should just go out and greet the sun.

 _“Oh god, Spike, I’m so sorry.”_ Buffy’s broken whisper slipped through his mind, and he closed his eyes, focusing on it. He was losing his bloody mind again, but he didn’t care. _“I didn’t mean to do this to you. I was trying to help.”_

He curled up on the couch and clung to the sound of her voice, letting it fill the growing void inside of him.

**…**

Angel was there again, checking in on them, but Buffy barely noticed him. He’d meant so much to her once, but right now she couldn’t even bother to be upset with him. All she could do was stare at the pinkish gold energy slowly moving from the amulet she was holding to the fish tank. She’d managed to bring back a nice chunk of Spike, but after that, the flow had slowed to the barest trickle.

The fight had been taken out of him. She’d taken both too much and not enough, and the amulet had made things even worse by slashing at his self-confidence. He’d been maimed and then Angel had been the one to rescue him. And now depression was eating him alive. She knew. She’d been there before. He needed to get out and _do_ something, to live instead of just passively existing.

The flow of energy surged suddenly, going back to the thread it had been from the start. The tears that had been threatening finally broke free. That had to mean he was recovering from what she’d done to him, didn’t it? Maybe Mathias had gotten through to him?

“Willow!” she called out. Her friend’s eyes widened at the sight of the energy coming from the amulet. “The pro-”

Before she could even finish the word, the projection was up, showing Spike in a hallway with Angel and Cordelia. What was Cordelia doing there? And… had Spike just called Angel a gormless tit? Such a weird vampire. God, she missed him.

“What’s Cordelia doing there?” Willow asked with a frown of confusion.

“It’s… because of me,” Angel said quietly. For the first time since he’d shown up that day, Buffy really looked at him. He seemed even broodier than normal. “I’ve been thinking about her a lot. The Wolfram & Hart doctors say there’s a way to bring her out of the coma, but I have to sign off on getting something out of customs for it to work.”

 _I forgot,_ Buffy thought guiltily. She wasn’t the only one with a loved one stuck in a coma. Though at least Cordy wasn’t also being emotionally – and physically to an extent – tortured in her own personal hell. She was just… sleeping. Kind of.

The projection flickered suddenly, then went fuzzy for a moment before showing them a close up of Cordelia’s face. What the? Nothing like that had ever happened before.

“Willow, Buffy, it’s me, Cordelia,” she said. “The real one and not some cheap knockoff made by the amulet. I can’t stay for long, but I’m setting up some groundwork. We _will_ get Spike out of this dump, trust me. And get your inside guy out. Like, _now_. The amulet has figured it out and things are about to get really bad for your friend.”

The image flickered again before returning to normal. Time had skipped, though, and Spike seemed to be fighting zombies or something. Willow frantically brought up another projection, this one showing Mathias involved in some kind of showdown against Angel and Cordelia.

With a loud curse, Willow practically threw herself at Buffy, slapping her hand over the amulet. Her eyes and hair went dark for a split second as she pulled Mathias out of the amulet only seconds before it tried to lock him away.

**…**

Buffy and Willow were talking to Mathias, assuring him that he’d done all he could, but Angel wasn’t really paying much attention. Willow had set up another projection, this one focused on Angel himself. It was showing him his amulet-created doppelganger. And Cordelia. It’d been so long since he’d seen her, awake and aware.

He’d never had Spike’s bizarre obsession with breathing, but – watching Cordelia say goodbye to the other him – Angel suddenly felt like he needed to breathe and there was no air. He forced himself to take a deep breath. It didn’t help. And then Cordelia was gone, leaving him to answer the phone.

_“… she never did wake up?”_

Angel swallowed hard. _I need to do it,_ he thought. He didn’t know what he’d be letting into the country, and he really didn’t care. He could lose Cordy forever. He couldn’t let that happen. He’d sign the papers and damn the consequences.

His cell phone rang, and fear squeezed his cold, dead heart. _It’s too late,_ he thought in numb horror as he pulled out his phone. He was terrible with the things, but he could at least read the caller ID. Wesley. Wesley was calling him. He swallowed again, trying to moisten his suddenly dry throat.

“Hello,” he croaked.

“Angel, you must return immediately.” There was a slight pause, then the ex-watcher continued on in a rush. “It’s Cordelia. She’s awake. She wants to talk to you.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some scenes and dialogue taken from the season five Angel episode “Smile Time”

There were a lot of perks to working at Evil Incorporated, apparently. Necrotempered glass, a fleet of cars, a whole building full of minions all waiting to jump when the boss said frog. And a state-of-the-art medical ward with a cafeteria that served things like mini quiches, lobster bisque, made-to-order steaks, and fancy chocolate mousse. Of course, Angel probably didn’t appreciate the menu choices, what with the no eating human food and all. Spike, though, would love it. If he ever woke up.

When _he wakes up,_ Buffy told herself fiercely as she piled fancy-schmancy hospital food onto her tray and put in an order for a rare steak. She didn’t want to be here – not at Wolfram & Hart and not in this cafeteria – but Cordelia and Willow were both right. Spike needed more care than what he could get at the hotel, and Buffy needed to keep up her strength, especially since she planned to keep donating blood to her vampire. She paid for her food with the card Angel had given her, then found a quiet table in the corner.

Spike _would_ wake up. He’d wake up, and Buffy would find him something tastier than pig blood, and then they’d go out together somewhere nice for dinner and dancing. He’d love that, doing the whole actual dating thing with flowers and candy and romance. They could even live together while they dated. Maybe with some of that necro glass for wherever they decided to live. She remembered how gleeful he’d been about being in the sun during the whole Gem of Amara thing. And if she was going to be building imaginary castles in the sky….

 _Once we get him out of the amulet, we’ll find a nice place to live near a mall and a club, and we’ll have necro windows. Maybe a whole glass patio thing. And, and kids. We could adopt or do in vitro stuff with a sperm donor or something._ Spike had always wanted kids. He’d told her that once, when she was down in the basement with him, taking a few precious moments away from the potentials and all the others who _needed_ her so much. Spike had needed her, too, but it had been a quiet need. Undemanding.

He’d be good at the whole being a father thing. But would she be any good at being a mother? She thought of Dawn and her successes and failures there after their mother had died. _She ended up as a thieving delinquent who thought no one cared about her or wanted to be around her. And then she kicked me out of my own house._ Yeah, she really hadn’t done a stellar job there with Dawn, had she? _Let’s table the kid idea for now. We could get puppies first. Or kittens. Kittens are nice._

Buffy didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there, lost in her thoughts, before someone suddenly put a plate of steak down in front of her. She blinked at it before looking up at Fred’s sympathetic face.

“Thanks,” Buffy said quietly as the other woman took a seat across from her. She almost told her to go away. That she wanted to be alone. She didn’t say it, though because, honestly, she really _didn’t_ want to be alone right now.

Fred smiled nervously and started picking at a napkin. “Willow showed us the recordings she made. Of what’s been going on in Spike’s hellscape.”

Buffy just nodded. She’d known Willow was doing that. She hated Spike’s privacy being invaded, but they needed to know what had been going on and what they had been dealing with. And they needed to see what kind of person Spike was. That he was worthy of their time and effort, even if Angel didn’t always seem to think so.

“I just wanted you to know,” Fred continued, “I would have called. If all that had really happened, I would have called and told you Spike was back. Even before he gave up a chance to be corporeal to save me.”

Buffy managed a smile. “Thanks,” she said again. “I appreciate that. And all that you’ve done for him. I mean, I know it wasn’t really you, just a projection, but it’s based on you. And the you in there has been really nice to Spike…. You know, other than the whole not calling thing…. Which totally was _not_ your fault, like, at all. So I, I shouldn’t even be talking about it.”

God, she was babbling. She cut off a piece of steak and stuffed it into her mouth to shut herself up. Oh wow, that was good. It all was. Had the cook sold his soul for his skills, or had Wolfram & Hart seduced away someone meant to open up a gourmet soup kitchen to feed the homeless? Maybe he was just a talented guy who had applied and there was no actual evil involved? Yeah, right. It _was_ Wolfram & Hart, after all. The evil bastards who had trapped Spike in a hell meant for Angel.

“A blood transfusion might help,” Fred said suddenly. Buffy glanced up at her. Blood transfusion? What? How would _that_ help get Spike out of the amulet? “You could give Spike more of your blood that way.”

Oh. Right. “Do… do you really think it’s helping?” Buffy asked. “My blood?”

“Absolutely.” The other woman’s voice was filled with conviction. “It’s helping to keep his body strong, and probably his mind, too. See, there has to still be some kind of connection, or he’d just be dust. The monitoring devices have been picking up all kinds of interesting readings, and….” She trailed off with a slightly awkward smile. “You probably don’t care about the actual science, do you?”

Before Buffy could say that she really didn’t but appreciated Fred’s enthusiasm and willingness to help, Fred’s cell phone rang. She answered it with an apologetic smile.

“Hello? Hi, Ange…. Oh, she is? That’s good. Did she get enough…? Right, okay. Bye.” The scientist closed her phone and looked at Buffy. “Cordelia’s awake again, and about ready to explain more of what she knows. Angel wants everyone to meet in Spike’s room.”

 _Finally. You’d think after being unconscious for so long, she wouldn’t have to sleep so much,_ Buffy thought in irritation. She immediately felt bad about it. Cordelia had been in a _coma_ , of course she needed a lot of naps. Faith may have bounced back from a long-term coma pretty easily, but Cordy wasn’t a Slayer. Despite the magic and therapeutic massages to keep her muscles from atrophying, it was normal for her to be tired all the time and to have about as much stamina as a brick of cheese.

“Wait,” Fred called out as Buffy started to stand up. “It’ll take a bit for everyone to get over to this part of the building. You have time to finish.”

Buffy hesitated, then sighed and sat back down. She needed to keep her strength up if she was going to help Spike.

**…**

_“… a wee li’l puppet man.”_

Buffy froze in the doorway to the hospital room, staring at the projection Willow had up. Spike looking at a puppet version of Angel with an almost childlike glee. She blinked, torn between laughing at the puppet and crying over Spike’s expression. She hadn’t seen him that happy in a long time. Maybe even from before the chip.

 _No,_ she realized, feeling a little sick. The last time she’d seen him like that – gleeful and full of unmitigated joy – had been the morning after they’d sexstroyed an entire building. He’d thought it had meant something. That it had been the start to an actual relationship. And then she’d crushed that dream, leaving him bitter and calling himself dirt. She’d been too depressed and lost in her own darkness for a real relationship. She wondered, sometimes, how things would have gone if –

“I can’t believe you turned me into a puppet.”

Angel’s complaint pulled Buffy out of her thoughts. She looked around the room, noticing for the first time that Angel and Cordelia – the latter in a wheelchair so she didn’t wear out as fast – were there, along with Willow and Dawn. And, of course, Spike. The hospital bed and all of the various sensors stuck all over him made him look small and delicate.

Buffy slipped fully into the room, Fred coming in behind her to check some of the machines all those sensors were attached to. _The good old comfy chair,_ she thought as she sat down in the easy chair next to Spike. He so owed her snuggles in a bed once he was back, damn it.

“Quit whining, Angel,” Cordelia said. Buffy could practically hear the eye roll. “You’re a hero. A champion, remember? Being a puppet in someone else’s version of hell isn’t exactly the end of the world.”

“It’s even kind of a cute puppet,” Dawn chimed in, moving from her position against the wall to sit on the arm of Buffy’s chair.

“Sorry, Angel,” Willow said, not sounding the least bit sincere. “The best way to keep Spike from giving in to depression is to diminish the you in there whenever I ca- Damn it!” Willow frowned in concentration as the puppet and Spike fought their way into an elevator. “Oh no you don’t,” she muttered. “Not on my watch.”

_“You want that car, Spike?” puppet Angel asked. “Then let me win this fight.”_

_Spike slammed him to the floor of the elevator and gave him an incredulous look. “You honestly think anyone is gonna buy that I lost to a bloody_ puppet _? Especially after I whipped your arse over that Cup of Destiny Dew?_

_“Any car you want. Your choice out of the entire fleet. And a pre-approved replacement if you manage to destroy this one, too.”_

_“Fine.” Spike rolled his eyes in obvious disgust and helped Angel up. “Don’t care one whit what your lot thinks of me.”_

“What just happened?” Buffy asked. It had seemed like the amulet was trying to twist things around again, but it had all just gotten… weird.

“Stalemate,” Willow stated, nose wrinkled slightly in annoyance. “The amulet tried to make it so puppet Angel could beat Spike. I wouldn’t let it, so instead we have puppet Angel _seeming_ to have won, but both he and Spike know the truth, which is good enough. Look.”

She pointed towards the amulet, which was on the bed beside Spike. The energy thread leading from it to the fish tank on the bedside table was a little thicker.

“Wallowing in depression slows things down, but happy or purpose-having Spike speeds it up,” Willow explained. “So, I’m doing what I can to diminish Angel, while also working on giving him a girlfriend.” She turned her attention directly to Buffy and shut down the projection. “I’m hoping seeing Angel with someone will give Spike a kick in the pants towards trying to get to you.”

“So at least one version of Angel is getting some, huh?” said a voice from the doorway. Gunn – the one who had spoken – was there with Wesley, Lorne, and the lizard woman. There’d been a lot of sex with the skanky Eve chick in the amulet, but Willow might have skipped that part when showing what had been going on. “Good job, man.”

“Looks like everyone is here,” Buffy cut in before any bantering could really begin. They didn’t have time for that. She focused on Cordelia. “What exactly is going on?”

“One of the Powers broke me out of the coma after a side trip into amulet land with enough mojo to shake things up.” Cordy had her problems, but Buffy had always liked her tendency to get right to the point. “The power of the amulet is being forced to manifest in the hellscape as the Senior Partners and members of something called the Circle of the Black Thorn. I planted it into amulet Angel’s mind that he has to fight these guys.”

She glanced from Willow, to Wesley, to Fred before continuing. “While that’s going on, our big brains here are going to figure out how to combine magic and technology so we can get in there with an entire big group during the climactic battle.”

“This still doesn’t make any sense,” Angel muttered. “Why would a Power be interested in helping get Spike out of the amulet? What does it have to do with my destiny?”

Buffy stared at Angel incredulously, too stunned by what he’d said to properly respond to it. _His_ destiny? He honestly thought everything the Powers that Be did revolved around him and his destiny? How the hell had she never noticed just how self-centered he was? She wanted to yell at him, but the words wouldn’t come. Fortunately, Cordelia didn’t seem to have that problem.

“Angel, you’re a great guy when you want to be, but seriously? What are you, two? The world doesn’t revolve around you, bucko. There’s a Power – one of the really big ones I might add – who is way more interested in Spike than it is in you. And it’s going to do what it can to help us.”

“One of the bigger Powers, you say?” Wesley asked with a troubled frown. “That doesn’t really bode well, does it? If something such as War or Death wishes to bring Spike back, perhaps,” he hesitated and looked towards Buffy apologetically, as if that would do anything about her sudden urge to punch him, “perhaps it might not be the wisest course.”

“Who said anything about War or Death?” Cordelia asked. “It’s –”

“Love,” Buffy broke in quietly. It had to be. She looked at Spike’s still form and took one of his pale hands in hers, careful not to jostle any of the wires. “It’s Love, isn’t it?”

She knew she was right even before Cordelia’s nod. Alive, dead, souled, or unsouled, Spike had always been about love. It drove everything he’d done in his existence. Heck, even some of his impulsive bits of idiocy had been fueled by a love of not being bored out of his mind. It was kind of poetic, really.

Buffy blinked at that thought and suddenly laughed. “We’re going to do it. We’re really going to get him back.”

“Buffy, we can’t be sure –”

“No,” she said, cutting Angel off. “I’m sure. We’re going to do it. Don’t you see?” She smiled and paraphrased something Spike had said inside his hellscape. “It’s in the poetry.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some scenes and dialogue taken from the season five Angel episode “A Hole in the World.” The poem “Nothing Gold can Stay” is by Robert Frost.

Spike slipped into the lab as quietly as he could, steps feather light despite the clunky footwear he preferred. His prey was just standing there, bent over a microscope and all unawares. Closer. Closer. _There_. He pounced, fingers skittering along Fred’s ribs as she squealed in apparent surprise.

“Boo,” he whispered in her ear before pulling away with a grin.

“Spike, you scared me!” she said accusingly, the twinkle in her eyes belaying her stern tone.

He snorted and shook his head. “The hell I did. You always seem to know when I’m about.” He appreciated her willingness to pretend, though. It allowed him to indulge in predatory behavior and have it be naught but a harmless little game. “What’s this you’re working on, then, love?”

Since it was Fred, he’d have asked no matter what, but he actually did want to know. Dru hadn’t much cared for it beyond things like the telly, but Spike had always been fascinated by technology and science. Was why he was already a fair hand with the fancy laptops common about the place while Angel could barely manage his bloody cell phone.

“Have a look,” Fred offered, stepping aside and gesturing towards the microscope.

No hesitation or any other indication that she thought he might not have the brains to use a microscope. Definitely one of the things he liked about her. She didn’t treat him like he was some kind of brainless git who could barely tie his own shoes like the others did at times. That general attitude was why he’d stayed quiet when his wits actually _had_ seemed to be going down hill a few days back. He’d been about to talk to Fred about it when it’d just sort of… stopped and reversed itself.

Now that he thought on it, it had happened around the same time that Charlie-boy had been slipping a bit. Maybe something in the air. _Or too much exposure to the grand poofter,_ he thought as he bent to peer into the microscope. _Bound to destroy a few dozen brain cells, that._

He fiddled with the dials a bit until the translucent green blobby thing was more in focus. There were all sorts of odd squiggles run through it. He had no idea what it was, but it did at least look pretty neat.

“Now look at this one.”

The slide was changed out. Another translucent green blob, but…. “Squiggles on this one are different,” he said, looking up at Fred.

“Exactly,” she said with a grin. “Both are skin cell samples from a grolork, but not the _same_ grolork. It means one of our clients is actually innocent.”

She looked down as she said it, obviously feeling guilty and uncomfortable. If it were Angel, Spike would have twitted him right proper, but this was Fred.

“Hey now, none of that, love,” he said gently. “Makin’ this place good? It’s a bloody daft idea, but, well, I’d be a mite bit of a hypocrite if I said evil could never be turned.” He thought about what he’d just said, feeling a little uncomfortable himself. “Not, not that I’m precisely _good_ , mind, just….”

“You _are_ good, Spike,” she said with a simple sincerity that was a comforting balm to his sense of self-worth. “You’re a champion, remember? Enough of one that the universe tried to rip itself apart because it couldn’t handle you.”

Ah, that sweet Texas charm. Knew how to put a bloke right to sorts, didn’t she? “Well, when you put it like _that_ …,” he trailed off with a slight smile.

He watched quietly for a moment – tapping lightly on the microscope table to keep himself from poking at things – as Fred prepared two evidence bags and put the samples inside. She looked happy. Almost glowing, she was, and not, he’d wager, just from helping someone who was actually innocent.

“So, you and the head boy, then, eh?” he said. “Office gossips have been all atwitter about it.”

She blushed a little, a schoolgirl grin of pure delight transforming her from pretty to stunning. Wesley didn’t deserve her. Wasn’t anywhere near good enough. But Fred deserved someone who made her happy, and it seemed the ex-watcher fit the bill nicely in that regard.

He reached out to her and gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “He ever hurts you, I’ll rip his kidneys out through his nose.”

Her eyes widened, and she suddenly looked uncomfortable again. “I… Spike, I….”

“Not like that, pet,” he assured her with a smile. “Only one woman for me, when it comes to that.” And he couldn’t bring himself to go to her. Was a bit like that poor sodding cat in the box, wasn’t it? Until he actually talked to Buffy, it was all up in the air. Until she actually said that he’d been right, that she didn’t love him, there was still that hope that maybe he’d been wrong. “Love comes in all different shapes and sizes, don’t it?”

He did love her, but it was the way he loved Dawn. Protective and somewhere between brotherly and fatherly. Fred was an adult though, and not a grieving girl desperately trying to find someone to cling to. She would never look to him as some kind of role model, thank God. She just needed a friend and older brother type. He could do that. Be a shoulder to cry on at times and to twit her mercilessly at others. Step in to protect her the few times she wouldn’t be able to do it herself.

He could do all that, easily. He may have completely bodged things up with his little bit, but he wouldn’t fail Fred.

**…**

Angel stared at the last page of the report in front of him, feeling sick. He’d almost let this thing through customs. If one of the Powers hadn’t pulled Cordy out of her coma, he would have signed off on it, unleashing some ancient god king into the world. It would have brought Cordelia’s body out of the coma, but it wouldn’t have been her in there. She would have been used as just a shell. Again. Only this time, her soul would have been devoured instead of just displaced.

 _I would have lost her forever,_ he realized. The thought left him feeling empty and numb. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but Cordy being gone… the possibility of it tore at him even worse than when he’d found out about Buffy’s death. Despite that, the idea of Buffy moving on, of finding happiness without him, didn’t sit well with him. He knew that was wrong. Knew that he –

The door was suddenly flung open by a wild-eyed Dawn, distracting Angel from his thoughts. “Happy thoughts, Angel! Willow needs you thinking happy thoughts,” she said.

“What’s going on?” he asked, standing up and heading towards the door. Dawn got out of his way and followed as he headed towards the medical wing. “We aren’t being attacked by Captain Hook, are we?”

“What? No.” Dawn looked at him like he was crazy. “That stupid amulet was messing around with its version of Gunn, taking away his brain upgrade to make Spike dumb.” She shot him a glare as they hurried down a hallway, the look promising painful retaliation if he made any comments about Spike’s intelligence. Angel wisely kept his mouth shut. “Willow fixed it, but now the amulet is using it to do something awful to Fred. Willow thinks she might be able to fix that too, if you can try to focus on things working out right.”

They walked into Spike’s room, where Buffy was pacing anxiously while Willow focused intently on the scene she was projecting. It was him and Spike, standing together against a group of enemies.

_“Just hold my hand,” the Angel in the projection said._

_Spike raised a brow at that, but did as he’d been told, slipping his hand into Angel’s._

That brought back a lot of memories, and not just St. Petersburg. The younger vampire had always been a bundle of contradictions, as eager to please as he was to rebel. Sometimes it was easy to see how Buffy could think she loved him.

“What’s going on? Dawn gave me the basics, but what’s all this?” He nodded towards the projection.

“Fred’s been infected by something nasty from the deeper well,” Willow said without taking her eyes off of things. “Since this thing is tied to your psyche, I thought maybe some positive thoughts might help me fix it.”

Something nasty from the deeper well? That sounded a lot like the thing that he’d almost allowed into the country to take over Cordelia. Reading the report and thinking about the implications must have influenced the amulet hellscape.

“I think it’s been planning something like this,” Buffy said quietly. “Fred’s been nice to him. Treating him like a person. And now it’s trying to take her away.”

Angel looked from her to the projection. He knew he should be clearing his mind and trying to focus on some kind of better scenario, but… part of him really didn’t want to. It wasn’t like the real Fred was in any danger. Spike was losing someone he cared about, just like Angel was losing Buffy. They were going to get him out of there eventually. Did it really matter how much he suffered along the way?

Yes. Yes, it _did_ matter how much Spike suffered. His suffering hurt Buffy. And besides, Angel was was supposed to be a champion. That meant putting aside petty jealousies and doing the right thing. He closed his eyes. And tried.

**…**

“There’s a hole in the world,” Spike said, staring down into the abyss. All full of coffins like the stars in the sky. A hole in the world. A hole in _his_ world. Fred…. “Feels like we ought to have known.”

Angel didn’t say anything. Just stood there beside him and looked down, lost in his own thoughts and regrets. There was nothing either of them could have done, but he knew that Angel had to be blaming himself. Truth to tell, Spike was in the same boat, shouldering blame for what had happened while the waters of _what if…?_ and _if only…_ seeped inside, threatening to drag him under.

Neither one of them had had a thing to do with Illyria pulling a runner and ending up where it could take over Fred. Also wasn’t their fault that there was nothing they could morally do to put a stop to what was happening. Knowing that didn’t make it any easier. Didn’t take away the guilt. Spike almost wished he didn’t have his soul. That he could just say damn the consequences and draw the bastard out of her anyway, no matter all the lives lost and people destroyed in the process.

Even without the soul, though, he knew he wouldn’t have done it. For one thing, Angel would still have said no. And… it wouldn’t be what Fred would have wanted. All those people…. Entire cities full of people all dying in agony as Illyria tried to fight being pulled back to the Deeper Well. Fred would have hated him – and worse, herself – if they’d been sacrificed for her sake.

 _Would have...._ God, he was already thinking of her in the past tense. Probably not even gone yet, but he could already feel her there. A horrible weight inside, nestled in with all the others he’d lost. The ones he’d failed. His mum, Buffy, Dawn. Even Dru. He hadn’t been able to be who or what she’d needed, no matter how he’d tried. He always failed the people he loved, and he couldn’t help thinking this was all his fault. If he’d just let the girl alone…. If he hadn’t been her friend, maybe this wouldn’t have happened to her. Maybe sod’s law would have passed her over and just let her be.

He knew it was self-centered to think that way, and that Fred would be the first to tell him as much. Didn’t do much to make it stop. Feelings weren’t logical. They didn’t take in facts and analyze situations. They didn’t weigh the pros and cons of various things before descending and making their presence known. They just… _were_.

And Wes’s had to be even more in turmoil, the poor sod. Didn’t matter if he thought the man was a bit of a stick-in-the-mud, Wesley and Fred had been happy. They’d had something warm and giving with a touch of giddiness to the mix. It had been… golden. And nothing gold could stay.

“Nature’s first green is gold,” he recited softly, taking some small comfort in Frost’s poem. “Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf’s a flower; but only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf, so Eden sank to grief. So dawn goes down to day….” He couldn’t finish it. His throat closed up, and the words refused to come.

“Nothing gold can stay,” Angel murmured beside him.


	10. Chapter 10

Angel stared down at the file on his desk. Even without opening it, he knew exactly what it was. Had known the instant Gunn had burst into his office and dropped it there with an accusing look. He shouldn’t have done it, but with Cordelia awake and asking questions, he’d had to look into things.

“So, you gonna open that, or just stare at it?” Gunn asked. “Or maybe you’re just waiting for me to leave, considering you went behind my back to get it in the first place?”

“Gunn….” Angel started, unsure of what else he intended to say. What else _could_ he say? He couldn’t exactly just tell him that he’d wanted to check on the son he’d had removed from everyone’s memories.

“I’m in charge of the private investigators, Angel. You want some kid tailed and his history complied, you come to me, not to one of my people.” He narrowed his eyes. “Who is this kid, anyway? He someone we need to take out, or someone we need to protect?”

“Neither,” Angel snapped as he opened the file. “We all need to just stay… away….”

He trailed off as he looked through everything. The investigator had done good work, some of it probably not legal. There were pictures of Connor growing up. Pictures that weren’t real. _Couldn’t_ be real. Connor had grown up in an awful hell dimension. These were family photos magicked into existence. The same was true of the report cards that had been copied and the newspaper clippings about various school games.

None of it was real, but Connor remembered it all, and that was what mattered. He’d had the kind of life Angel had wanted for him. _The kind I wouldn’t have been able to give him even if he hadn’t been taken away from me._ It was better this way. All of the ugly memories taken away with the rewrite of reality, leaving him as the only one to remember the horror and sadness of it all. Well, him and Cordy. Though now that he was running the L.A. branch of Wolfram & Hart, maybe there was something he could do about that. Make it so she didn’t have to live with that.

The phone on his desk rang, a jarring intrusion into his thoughts. He picked up the receiver and slammed it back down. There were baby pictures in the files. So much like the ones Cordelia had taken before Wesley had stolen Connor and given him to Holtz’s people. He swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat. Connor, his baby boy….

“Uh, Angel? You alright, man? You need me to get that?”

The damn phone was ringing again. He snatched up the receiver and snapped, “What?”

“Okay, I don’t know what bug crawled up your butt and died,” Cordy’s voice said over the line, “but you need to get over it. Willow’s got a sneak peek going on in Spike’s head, and he just met Connor.”

Just met Connor…. Spike had just met Connor. Fred was working on something to let a large group of people into the amulet, and was constantly watching the recorded scenes in an attempt to understand it better. She wasn’t stupid. If she saw a mystery son that Angel had altered reality for, she was going to wonder why it was part of Spike’s hellscape. And if he asked Willow not to share any of that….

He hung up the phone and closed his eyes, feeling like the world was sinking away. He had to tell them. Maybe not everything, not the details of how Holtz had gotten a hold of his son, but he had to tell them most of it before they found out from the amulet.

“Angel?”

He opened his eyes and looked up at Gunn. “Gather the team,” he said quietly. “I need to talk to you all about something.”

**…**

Spike’s coat still smelled like him. Which, really, made perfect sense, considering it hadn’t actually been all that long since the collapse of Sunnydale. The fact that Buffy tended to drape it over him when she wasn’t wearing it herself – like she was at the moment – probably had a lot to do with that, too. But even if it hadn’t been all Spike-scented, the coat still would have been a comforting weight as Buffy carefully pushed Cordelia’s wheelchair towards the conference room.

She hadn’t specifically been invited to this bit of Avengers assemble-age, but when the still-recovering Cordelia had gotten the call, she hadn’t protested when Buffy had offered to help her get to it. Probably because, for all her flaws, Cordelia had never really been all that into deception. She’d been almost a relief to be around back in high school when Buffy had fought a demon that had infected her with an aspect of itself. She’d ended up reading people’s minds without any way to control it, and Cordelia’s thoughts had pretty much been exactly what had come out of her mouth.

And then there had been Angel, who had been a blank slate. He’d claimed it was because he was a vampire, but then, he’d claimed a _lot_ of things were because he was a vampire, and those hadn’t turned out to be completely true. Maybe he liked his secrets so much that it had rendered him immune to demony telepathy? She didn’t know, and she supposed it didn’t really matter. It was just more reason to be on her guard when it seemed like Angel was trying to keep things from her.

She sighed and pushed Cordelia’s chair through the door and into the room where Angel and Gunn were already waiting. Angel immediately looked at her, his expression seesawing between longing and annoyance. Lovely. Maybe she should have just sent Dawn to watch this meeting? Or, hell, she could have just waited and asked Cordy about it afterwards. But she was here now, and leaving would just be running away.

“Buffy,” Angel said, and again, there was that mix of desire and irritation. “Thank you for bringing Cordelia, but this doesn’t concern you.”

“Like the amulet info you tried to hide wasn’t any of my business?” she asked, and he at least had the decency to look uncomfortable. She could pretend it was because he felt guilty and not just a reaction to the fact that she’d whupped his butt for it. Heck, maybe it even _was_ because of that. Stranger things had happened. “I may have thought the whole mystery-man thing was romantic when I was when I was the kid you first met, but even back then it was frustrating. I’ve had to grow up a lot since then. Grown-up Buffy doesn’t put up with your bullshit.”

Even though little girl Buffy was still in there somewhere, wailing and trying to believe in her dark, mysterious knight in Batman armor. Well, tough cookies. Little girl Buffy could go have herself a cry in the corner _after_ Spike was safe and they were all out of the office building of Evil Incorporated.

“It’s not like she isn’t going to find out,” Cordelia added before Angel could say anything. “What, were you planning on locking her in a closet until we get this finished?”

“What are you trying to hide from me this time?” Buffy demanded.

Before Angel could answer, Lorne swept in with Fred and Wesley behind him, holding hands. Apparently, the two of them had been dating for a couple of weeks, but had been keeping it low key at the office until they’d seen what had happened to the Fred in the amulet world. _Nothing gold can stay,_ Buffy thought, fighting back sudden tears. Screw gold. Fred and Wes could be silver. It was just as pretty. And when… when she got Spike back, they could be platinum. His hair was already that color, why not their relationship?

“What’s the brouhaha all about, Angel-cakes?” Lorne asked. “If you’d called us in just a few minutes earlier, I’d have had to cut short setting up what looks like it will be a beautiful relationship between Depp and one of our contract lawyers.”

“That the one Penny recommended?” Gunn’s voice and expression were soft at the mention of the lizard woman.

“Yep, that’s the one.”

Would Gunn and Penelope be gold, or something stronger and more lasting? She looked from Gunn to Angel. They had been gold, she realized. She’d been young when she first met him, only sixteen and just really becoming aware of herself as a sexual being. Her relationship with him had been something new and tender, that first fragile bud in the springtime of her life. The flower had faded away and leaf had subsided to leaf. Had he left, not because their “great love” would lead to more sex, but because without that, he’d be forced to realize they really didn’t have that much in common?

She sighed and shook her head. Spike’s poetic thinking was apparently contagious, and she couldn’t afford that right now. She wasn’t General Buffy standing in the breach of hell anymore, but it wasn’t over. Not until they got Spike out of his own personal hell. Until then, she had to stay hard.

“I need to get back to the lab soon,” Fred said. “I finally figured out the last part of the puzzle to get more people at a time into the amulet.”

“Right, okay.” Angel sighed and rubbed his face. “I have a son,” he said quietly.

Buffy blinked and just stared stupidly for a moment. Angel had a son? Angel had…. That just didn’t make any sense. How could he have a son? Hadn’t his whole “can’t have kids” thing been part of his reason for leaving her? Or, you know, even the stuff that leads to kids.

“Um, Angel? Cupcake?” Lorne’s voice cut through the stunned silence. “Maybe you’ve forgotten this somehow, but you’re a vampire.”

“Yeah, no, I _do_ remember. His mother was one, too. Darla. There was, uh, some mystical stuff involved,” Angel explained.

Darla. Spike had told her about that, once. How she had somehow been resurrected as a human – had she remembered wherever her soul had been? – and then Drusilla had turned her back into a vampire. That hadn’t been all that long before Dru had skittered back to Sunnydale for her dark knight only to end up bound up in Spike’s crypt along with Buffy herself.

Darla. A small blonde who had liked to dress up as a schoolgirl, and Angel had somehow had a kid with her. There was some serious chicken and egg about all of that, but who was the chicken and who was the egg? Did Angel even know?

Gunn suddenly snapped his fingers, startling Buffy out of her thoughts. “That kid!” he exclaimed. “The one you were keeping tabs on. He’s what, nineteen, twenty? And you’re just now bringing him up?”

Before Buffy could wrap her mind around the idea of Angel having a son only a couple of years younger than she was, he shook his head in denial.

“That’s not…. Well, yeah, he’s about that, but he was only… he was only born about two years ago,” he said, voice rough. He looked lost, like something precious had been stolen from him. Buffy could seriously relate to that. Her life as a normal girl, her mom, Spike….

“Two years ago?” Wesley repeated. “And you kept it all from us?” The ex-watcher frowned. “Wait… Darla… she was here, two years ago, in L.A. She came to us for something, but I can’t quite….”

“I didn’t keep it from you. You all knew about it. Well, most of you.” He looked at Buffy before continuing. “Something happened,” his gaze flickered towards Wesley then away, “the baby… Connor… he ended up with one of my enemies and was raised in a hell dimension where time flows faster than ours. He came back, but he was all….” He shook his head and made a small, helpless sound. “He was really messed up. Confused about things. And then it got worse, so... when Wolfram & Hart approached us, that was my price. They altered reality so he and everyone in L.A. would think he’d had a normal, happy childhood, and only I would remember it…. Well, and Cordy, apparently, but I, uh… I think that’s because of the coma.”

Buffy frowned. “Why would you do that?” She couldn’t really gripe about altering reality to insert someone into a family, not with Dawn and everything, but why leave himself with the memory? That just kind of seemed like using your bare foot to kick a board with a nail in it out of the way even though it would have been easier to just pick the stupid thing up. And then to make sure no one else knew about it while you tended your injury, letting the pain remind you that you’d done something self-sacrificing. It wasn’t noble, it was selfish. “Why keep the memories? Why not just let him go?”

“Because… well, I….”

“It’s not like it’s the first time he’s changed things and made it so only he remembered,” Cordy said. “Though the first one involved turning time back, and he ended up telling Doyle about it, and Doyle told me.”

“Cordy!” Angel barked, staring at her in alarm before shooting a stricken glance towards Buffy.

She felt sick, suddenly. Oh god, what had Angel done? It had something to do with her, she knew it from his look. Something had happened involving them, and she didn’t remember it. He did, though, and he’d told other people about it. People who weren’t her.

“What did you do?” Here voice was cold. Hard. Ice. She was made of ice.

“Nothing!” He flinched slightly at her look. “It doesn’t matter. It had to be done. It was for the best.”

“Oh? And who decided that, exactly? You? Or did we actually sit down and discuss whatever it was like rational adults?” His expression said pretty clearly which it had been. She narrowed her eyes and stalked towards him. “What. Did. You. D-”

“Buffy!” Dawn practically flew into the room, eyes bright. “We got more! There’s more, a big chunk! I don’t know what happened, but Willow brought up the stuff in Spike’s head again, and you were all Slutty McSkankpants in Rome, and all this funny, terrible stuff was happening to Angel, and Spike’s coat died, but it’s okay, because you’re wearing the real one and I think the one in there being murdered was a symbol of the chunk that went into the fish tank, and I think I’m gonna pass out if I don’t breathe real soon.”

Dawn leaned heavily against the doorframe, taking several deep breaths while Buffy stared at her like she’d grown a second head. The coat had died? There was more in the fish tank? Slutty McSkankpants, _really_? That was totally unfair. It could have just been Dawn being Dawn, but…. What was Amulet Buffy doing in there? Did Angel think moving on from him meant she’d turned into some kind of great big ho? Buffy shook the thought away. Not important right now.

“That’s good.” Understatement of the year. “That’s really good.”

Before she could gather up her scattered thoughts enough to actually say something intelligent, a man with a package came up behind Dawn and peered into the conference room.

“Ms. Burkle? I have something for you here.”

Fred took a step towards the doorway, but Wes’s hand was still entwined with hers, and he wasn’t budging. She smiled back at him. “It’s okay. There’s probably not any mummy dust in there.”

God, they were adorable together. Had she ever been like that with anyone after Angel? She glanced at him and shook her head before reaching out to grab the package. “I’ve got this.”

“Buffy, don’t!” Angel called out, taking a step towards her. “I should –”

Buffy rolled her eyes in disgust and opened it up. Packing peanuts and…. Huh. A jar full of glowy… _stuff_. She took it out and considered shaking it, but thought that might not be the brightest idea ever.

“Oh!” Fred cried out. “That’s it! That’s the last thing I need to create the interface modules.” She frowned in confusion as she took it from Buffy. “But I hadn’t even had a chance to order it yet.”

Buffy dug into the box again and pulled out a small note card. “It says, sent with love, from Love.” She looked around the room. Most of the others looked just as confused as she felt, but Cordelia was smiling.

“We _do_ have a Power on our side, remember?”

Buffy let herself smile back for a moment, then she hardened her expression and squared her shoulders as she glared at Angel. “You aren’t off the hook, buster. After we finish this, you _will_ tell me what you did.” He didn’t even try to argue with her, just nodded, looking defeated. She turned to Fred. “Let me know when it’s all ready.” She took a deep breath. So close. They were so close now. She could feel it. “Then I’ll gather the troops, and we’ll finally bring Spike home.”


	11. Chapter 11

Buffy was back at the hotel, the stairs behind her and Willow beside her as she stood in the lobby with a small cardboard box held in one hand. She looked out at the at the group of people. Giles, Faith, Robin, Andrew. Vi, Rona, and the other potentials-turned-slayers that had survived. Including Kennedy, who was looking belligerent and annoyed. Everyone who had been there at the end of Sunnydale was gathered together.

Well, almost everyone. Dawn was still at Wolfram & Hart, keeping an eye on Spike and reading to him, and Xander…. Xander hadn’t really come out of his room much since they’d first come to the hotel. He was still mourning his losses and licking his wounds. Buffy didn’t blame him for it. There was a lot she didn’t blame him for, like his part in betraying her. He at least had had an excuse; on drugs, in pain, and in shock from the loss of a sense organ. A loss he wouldn’t have suffered if she hadn’t led him into danger.

“Okay,” she said to the assembled group, reaching into the box. She pulled out what looked like an oval garage door opener with a single button in the middle. “There are enough of these in here for all of you. When it’s time, Fred will get her machine going and Willow will start up a spell. We’ll all push these buttons. They’ll get us into the amulet and also work as an anchor.” She took a deep breath and looked over them all, meeting as many eyes as she could. “We’re going to be fighting manifestations of the amulet, and I… I understand if some of you don’t want to fi-”

“We’re vampire slayers,” Kennedy cut in. “Why are we talking about putting any time and effort into saving a _vampire_?” She looked at Willow, expression going hard. “You’ve been doing too much magic. No more. You need to stop this.”

Willow made a soft, pained sound, no doubt thinking of Tara and her similar comments. The difference was, Tara had been a fellow witch who had known what she was talking about. And she had known that the problem wasn’t magic itself, it was a flaw in Willow. A flaw the redhead had been working hard to correct.

Fear suddenly gripped Buffy. What if Willow listened to Kennedy? What if she stopped trying to help Spike when they were so damn close? She didn’t think it was something Willow would do, but then, she hadn’t thought Giles would betray her or that everyone would gang up on her to kick her out of her own house.

“Will….”

“You stay out of this,” Kennedy said, walking forward and getting right in Buffy’s face. “You said before that you aren’t our leader, but you seem to be throwing your weight around.” She bent her knees and held up her hands in a fighting stance. “Let’s fight this out, ‘Senior Slayer.’ I win, and you leave us all to work things out on our own. You win, and we’ll follow you.”

“Kennedy!” Giles snapped. “This is most –”

He stopped at Buffy’s upraised hand. “No. No, she wants a fight, that’s fine by me,” she said, not taking her eyes off of Kennedy as she carefully set the box of devices down.

The girl was oozing confidence. She’d had all that fancy, expensive training, and maybe that made her better than most of the others who had just been potentials. But Buffy had been called at fifteen, and then she’d spent years on the Hellmouth. Kennedy was good, but Buffy was better, and she had no intention of hiding that or dragging things out. She struck without warning, punching Kennedy in the face, following it up with two short, brutal kicks to the ribs before dropping down for a leg sweep.

Then Kennedy was down and Buffy sat on her before grabbing her by the hair and smashing her face against the floor. Willow made a half-hearted protest, but didn’t actually do anything to interfere. This was something between the two slayers that had been brewing since the day Kennedy had arrived in Sunnydale. Buffy smacked the girl’s head against the floor one more time, then looked up. Hard. Ice. She had to be ice.

“You’re either with me on this, or you aren’t. If you aren’t, that’s fine. I don’t want anyone going in who isn’t sure of what they’re doing. Just remember this, Spike was willing to _die_ for all of us. He thinks he _did_ die for us, and that he found some kind of peace after. And he was….” Her throat closed up for a moment as the memory of being resurrected flashed through her mind. “He was ripped out of that peace and thrust into his version of hell. If that means _nothing_ to any of you, then leave now. Get out of my sight.”

There was a moment of still silence, then Faith walked forward and knelt to take a device from the box. “We’re with you, B,” she said. “All the way.”

She glanced over at Robin, tossing him a device at his slow nod. Buffy had included one for him, but she honestly hadn’t expected him to help. Spike hadn’t exactly been the former principal’s favorite person. One by one, they all came up and took a device until only the one meant for Kennedy was left.

Buffy slowly stood up, gazing at them with silent gratitude. It was going to be enough. They’d take the fight to the amulet. She could feel the ice melting.

Kennedy rolled over and glared as she wiped the blood off her face. She didn’t care one way or another about Spike, and Buffy knew it. She just wanted to be in charge. For the most part, Buffy didn’t care _who_ was in charge, but it wasn’t going to be Kennedy.

“Fine,” she spat, standing up and holding herself like things were broken inside. They probably were, but she would heal. “If you all want to waste time on Buffy’s pet vampire instead of actually fighting evil, you do that.” She glanced towards Willow. “When you’re done with this, we’ll talk about the magic.”

“No,” Willow said quietly. “We won’t.”

“You’re choosing _her_ over me?”

Buffy winced. She’d learned, too late, that she couldn’t let her friends dictate her love life. It was a choice she’d had to make. And one that Willow had to make. She started to say as much, but stopped as Willow shook her head.

“No, I’m choosing me,” she said. “I’m sorry, Kennedy, but this isn’t working out. I can’t… I don’t….” She shook her head. “This relationship isn’t right for me, and trying to pretend it is isn’t fair to you.”

Kennedy looked like she’d just been slapped and was fighting back tears. Buffy actually felt a little bit sorry for her. Then the girl squared her shoulders, gathered the remains of her dignity, and left.

“I’m sorry, Willow,” Buffy said softly.

“Even though you didn’t like her?” Willow asked with a slight, sad little smile that took the sting out of her words. “It’s okay. We really weren’t right tog-” She stopped abruptly, eyes wide as she looked at something behind Buffy.

She whirled, expecting to find some enemy that had snuck in, but it was Xander, coming down the last couple of steps. He bent to snag the last of the devices. Since she hadn’t expected him to leave his room, she hadn’t actually included one for him.

“Looks like you saved one for me. Good.” He stood and smiled. “Let’s go get our Bleached Menace.”

**…**

Monsters were loose on the streets of Los Angeles. Nothing really new there, in and of itself, but this was a different set than usual and they were making themselves known. And he knew it was likely his imagination, but Spike couldn’t shake the feeling that quite a lot of them seemed to be specifically targeting him.

Of course, it might have been because he was on his own. Angel had buggered off after the dragon and Spike had been separated from where Illyria had been protecting a dying Charlie. No one to watch his back. No one to see or care if he bit it.

Had he done enough that when that time came, he’d be waiting where Buffy would go? Probably not. Didn’t matter anyway. Not like she wanted him anymore. If she’d ever actually wanted him at all.

He kept going through the motions, even now, his body doing what it needed to keep going. Punch, kick, fling himself at foes. Truth was, though, he’d given up in Rome. He’d been feeling steadily… _emptier_ the past few months, and something had just gone out of him then. Had fled away, and the rest of him longed to follow.

 _Hang on, Spike, we’re coming!_ Buffy’s voice, his mind conjuring thoughts of her in what would probably end up as his final moments. It distracted him, and he faltered, let too many of the other demons get in close. He was surrounded, several demons thick.

 _So this is it, then, is it?_ He was ready. God, was he ready. Didn’t mean he was just going to lay down and dust. He’d take as many of these sorry sods with him as he could. Maybe buy the sprog he’d saved and its mum a chance to get out of L.A.

With a roar, he threw himself into it, heedless of his own safety. Something shredded the replica coat he was wearing, tearing past it and slicing into his side. He ignored it, ignored the feeling of borrowed blood trickling down. He headbutted another something and immediately punched something else. He was getting tired, fatigue dragging at his limbs, slowing him down.

A massive, clawed hand swiped towards his face, and he knew, _knew_ he wouldn’t be able to stop or dodge it. He didn’t even try. He’d taken a lot of the buggers out, and now it was over. This was it. He’d finally be done. Finished. At peace again. He smiled and closed his eyes.

Then immediately opened them again when blood that wasn’t his splattered across his face. The shrieks of dying demons suddenly filled the air along with mostly female voices raised in battle cries. What. The. Bloody _hell_?

They poured in around him, pushing back the flood of demons, giving him room to move, to really _fight_. The girls what had survived the Hellmouth along with Rupert, Xander, Andrew, and even the teacher. And there… oh god, there was Dawn, about to get her fool head bitten off. He rushed forward and tackled the thing away from her, carrying it down to the ground and jamming a stake in it. It didn’t dust like a vampire, but a bit of wood thrust right through the heart tended to be a mite detrimental to most living things.

He jumped to his feet and just stared at her. Dawn. His Nibblet, grinning and looking at him with bright, happy eyes. Had she finally forgiven him? And if she was here, did that mean…? Something slammed into him from behind and achingly familiar arms circled around him.

“Spike,” Buffy whispered, sounding close to tears. “Oh god, Spike. We’re here. We came for you. We’re going to get you out.”

He pulled away from her so he could turn and see her. There really were tears. “Buffy,” he breathed out her name. She was here. Why was she here? “What…?” He frowned suddenly. “What do you mean, get me out? Out of the fight? Lot of people in danger here, love.”

“No.” She shook her head. “The only one in any danger is you. This is….” She sighed and closed her eyes, then opened them, a pleading look in their depths. “This is going to be hard to believe, but you didn’t die in the Hellmouth. You closed it. The power of your soul….” She paused and swallowed. “The power of _you_. You closed it, and you got sucked into the amulet. It created the whole thing with you being trapped here with Angel as your own personal hell.”

“So you’re saying hell’s Angel then, are you?” The words popped out, his mouth running off without him while his brain tried to process everything. He was in his own personal hell? And Buffy and all the others had come for him.

“We have most of you out. For the rest, you just have make a real effort to leave. To come to me.” She held out her hand for him. “Please, just take my hand.”

Spike stared at it. It could be a trick. Or it could be real. _Does it even matter?_ he wondered. Trapped in hell…. God, did that describe how he’d felt lately. If it was real, she was here to rescue him, and that…. He swallowed. He wanted to believe it. He slowly reached out to take her hand. He wanted it to be real. But if it wasn’t…. Well, he didn’t really have anything to lose, did he? His hand closed around hers, and everything faded away.

**…**

Pinkish gold light filled Buffy’s vision and danced along her tongue as a summer thunderstorm, wood smoke, the earthiness of vampire, cigarettes, whiskey, and leather. So many other things she couldn’t put a name to, that all combined into one thing. One being. Spike.

He was in her. Part of her, and she held him close as he struggled weakly. _No, no. Don’t go_. Had to hold on. Keep him with her. Wait. Wait, she remembered this. Last time, there had been too much. It had burst out of her and gone to the…. The fish tank! She’d forgotten. Spike had to go to the fish tank, so he could be whole.

Buffy opened her eyes and let her jaw fall, and the pinkish gold essence-of-Spike flowed out of her. It wasn’t as bad as last time. There was still a feeling of loss, but no images of Spike chained up and drugged while his hands were cut off. That was a major plus.

Instead, when her vision cleared, she saw Spike lying beside her on the hospital bed, still and silent. But the fish tank was full, and Willow was already standing beside it, chanting under her breath. It was only the two of them in the room with Spike, though Dawn had desperately wanted to be there.

Willow plunged her hand inside and grabbed hold of the Orb of Thessulah with one hand. The other settled on Spike’s chest. And then he convulsed, limbs flailing.

“Spike?” Buffy called, grabbing one of his hands. He shook, the entire bed trembling with the movement, then went still again. “Spike?”

There, the slightest twitch of those beautiful lashes. They fluttered, and then Spike’s eyes opened. Tears filled Buffy’s own. It was over. She had him back. She really had him back.

“Hey now, love, none of that,” he whispered, his voice a little rusty. He reached up with the hand she wasn’t holding and brushed away a tear with his thumb. He smiled, and it was one of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen. “You came for me again.”

“Yeah. Of course I did. It’s all part of the hero package.” Uncertainty and pain in his eyes, and she could have kicked herself. How had she not seen how he was going to take that? “I beat the bad guys and save the day. And always put on my A-game to rescue my damsel in distress.” She reached out to caress his cheek.

“My knight in shining armor, then, are you?” Love, wonder, and gratitude now in those blue eyes.

“Uh-huh,” Buffy whispered. “No matter what, I’ll always, _always_ come for you.”

He squeezed her hand. They were the same hands as when he’d sent her away there near the end in the Hellmouth. “The damsel bit’s getting a mite old, pet. What say we both be heroes for a spell and watch each other’s backs?”

She smiled. He’d always been good at watching her back, even when she’d been too blind to see it. “I think I’d like that. I’d like it a lot.”

**…**

The sharp slap of a hand against someone else’s flesh rang through the air, followed by several meaty thuds and grunts of pain. Spike wanted to step in, get a few of his own licks in, but this wasn’t his fight. Honestly, he probably shouldn’t even have been in Angel’s office for this, but Buffy still got nervous if he wasn’t close by, like she thought he’d go up in a puff of smoke when she wasn’t looking.

“You bastard,” she spat. “Have you _ever_ had even the tiniest bit of respect for me?”

“Buffy,” Angel protested.

She stopped him with a shake of her head and an upraised hand. “I don’t want to hear it. You _stole_ a day from me. You….” She shook her head and turned towards the door. “I’m out. You’re the one who’s always saying we should stay away from each other. I agree.”

She swept out the door, slamming it behind her. No doubt she intended him to follow after, but she’d needed that door slam. One final burst of violence and a symbol of closing the door very firmly on part of her past.

“It’s for the best,” Angel murmured, mostly to himself, it seemed. “She deserves a normal life, not….” He looked at Spike. “She deserves normal, not things like _us._ ”

“Not your call, mate,” Spike pointed out. “Don’t matter that there’s a whole army of ‘em now, she’s still Slayer, bloody _the_. She’s too big to fit comfortably in the box you want for her.”

Angel was always nattering on about that. About wanting normal for Buffy, but when it had landed right in his bloody lap….

Spike had realized something while in the amulet. Angel didn’t really understand a bloody thing about prophecies and destiny. He’d known that to an extent, what with Dru and all. Was a reason she’d called _him_ her explicator at times and not Angel. Spike had always been able to puzzle them out, and he knew that they were just _a_ future, not _the_ future. “Destiny” was just a possible future with the right backers. It could be thwarted, or even attained and sent back with a two-fingered salute and a big, fat “return to sender” stamped all over.

The sorry sod had well and truly buggered himself, and he didn't even realize it. He'd been human. He'd _had_ his bloody Shanshu, and he hadn't wanted it. He'd turned back the hands of time and changed the flow, just so he could grab hold of his prize with both hands and throw it away. Spike wasn't sure which would be kinder, to clue Angel in, or let him continue wallowing about in Egypt. And more to the point, did he even _want_ to be kind to the tosser?

 _Let it alone, for now,_ he thought. Kind or cruel, Angel had enough on his plate for the moment. He was the one sporting a collection of nasty bruises while Spike was the one walking away with the prize. Not Buffy herself – was a _person_ , she was, not a sodding geegaw found in the bottom of a crackerjack box – but the chance to be with her. That was the prize. That they had a shot at building something together.

“Goodbye, Angel,” he said before turning his back on his grandsire and following his Slayer out of the office.

She was right there outside the door, waiting for him, and when she held her hand out, they fit together like they'd been made for each other. He smiled at her, but before he could say anything, Dawn came flying out of nowhere and attached herself to his side like a limpet.

That had been a surprise. He’d never thought she’d forgive him, but the moment she’d first seen him out of that sodding amulet, she’d kicked him in the shin before trying to hug the stuffing right out of him.

“Come on,” Buffy said quietly. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Where are we going to go?” Dawn asked, pulling away, but taking Spike’s free hand in hers.

Buffy smiled. “Wherever we want.” She glanced at him. “Any suggestions?”

He tilted his head, thinking on it. He’d been all over the globe in his life. If he could go anywhere he wanted….

“Not Rome,” he said firmly.

Buffy laughed. “Yeah, I don’t even speak Italian. We’ve got our entire lives to figure it out. Right now, though, I’m dying for a burger.”

“Well, then, that settles it,” he said. “Today, grub and a bit of a rest. Tomorrow,” he let go of Dawn’s hand to make a grand sweeping gesture, “the world.”

He took his Nibblet’s hand again as they started off towards the lobby. He didn't know where his journey with Buffy was going to lead, but one thing was crystal clear. It was going to be a hell of a ride.


	12. Epilogue

Neither Buffy nor Spike had wanted to set foot in the Wolfram & Hart building again, leaving it to Dawn to go in and see if Willow was ready to go yet. She’d stayed behind to get all of her magical things sorted and packed while the three of them had gone to McDonald’s for Big Macs and a Happy Meal. Spike had still been brushing out the hair of his Bratz doll when Dawn had left him and her sister waiting outside.

Willow was packing away the last of her supplies when Dawn walked into the hospital room. Without Spike actually in it, the bed looked smaller, like there was no way it could possibly have held him and still had room for either her or Buffy to snuggle in beside him. That was one of the many things they had in common. Both Buffy and Spike were kind of on the small side, but seemed larger than life.

“I think I have just about everything,” Willow told her. “I just need to tape up this box, then I’ll be ready.”

“Okay.”

Dawn wandered closer to the bed, frowning when she caught sight of the amulet. It didn’t look any different. Shouldn’t it look different, now that they had Spike out? She tilted it, squinting as she looked into the gaudy gem. Huh. If she hadn’t known any better, she’d swear she see fuzzy, ghostly images in it. Her eyes widened as she realized that’s _exactly_ what she was seeing.

“Willow!” she called, whirling around to face the witch.

“What is it?” Willow abandoned her box to come to Dawn’s side. “What’s wrong?”

“Look.” Dawn held the amulet up, her hands shaking slightly. Spike had seemed pretty much himself, but what if they’d left a little bit of him behind? Could he survive like that, or would he slowly fade away? Or be dragged back in? “What do we do?”

Willow flashed her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. I thought this might happen. Spike’s out of there, but it’s still connected to Angel’s psyche. It’s getting just enough input to keep going as a sort of shallow mockery of things. It’ll play out a bunch of flat, two-dimensional events based on his random daydreams.”

“So, what, you mean lots of hero worship for Angel and, like, crazy, flying space sex with my sister?”

“Ew, no.” The redhead wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Angel has better taste than _that_.” She returned to her box and picked it up. “Okay, let’s go.”

“What about the amulet?” Dawn asked, staring down at it again. “Shouldn’t we destroy it or something?”

Willow shook her head. “A lot of magic was stuffed into that thing. Trying to destroy it could wipe out the entire city.”

Sunnydale was quite a bit smaller than L.A. and most of the damage had been from the sheer power of Spike’s soul, but the amulet had already basically destroyed a city. Dawn shuddered and tossed the thing back onto the bed before wiping her hand on her jeans.

“It should be safe enough to just leave it here,” Willow said. “It can’t do anything unless a champion deliberately puts it on while near an active Hellmouth. Ready?”

“Yeah.”

Dawn gave the amulet one last look before following Willow out of the room. The light was turned off, leaving it to softly glow as time went on inside of it, the inhabitants living shallow lives while the ones outside set out on a journey to discover the true depths in store for them.


End file.
